Even Vampires Get the Blues
by dans tous nos reves
Summary: Pam POV. Sookieverse experiences a new threat as Pam's own past comes back to haunt her. Assumes some of Books 1-8 not Chapt 1 of Book 9 . Some departs from Sookie/Pam canon. May be M in some chapters. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Even Vampires Get the Blues: A Southern Vampire Mysteries one-shot story from Pam's POV. **Disclaimer**: I do not own the Southern Vampires series. All rights belong to Charlaine Harris. I receive no compensation for this, and just really like the characters. Enjoy.

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It was just after sundown when Pam rose from her resting place and felt the familiar burn of hunger and lust that usually accompanied waking from her day death. She stretched her thin bone white arms and wondered what excitement the night would hold for her. It was another night of door duty at Fangtasia for the old vampire.

Her brain ran through all the possible scenarios that could play out. The array of images came rapid-fire, and each consisted of much the same material: boring night at Fangtasia; catching up on business with her Master; and finally, feeding off one of her favorite fangbangers (preferably young, brunette, and female, though she wouldn't turn down a young, brunette male either), or perhaps two. These last images only served to increase her hunger and lust, and she cursed herself for having thought them. She was beginning to understand why some of her less "mainstreaming" fellow vampires kept human "pets."

Pam was like her Master in that way—a pragmatist. She saw the utility in the idea of having 24-7 access to blood and sex, but also saw all of the potential downsides. Most humans were annoying, demanding, and unintelligent. She would tire of them in a fortnight, and would be forced to glamour, turn, or kill them. It seemed like a lot of work for a little blood.

She shifted her long legs over to the side of her luxurious and rounded bed, pulled aside the ivory silk privacy drapes enclosing its frame, and slipped her feet into her peach-colored satin slippers. She enjoyed the contradiction of being a deadly predator that came wrapped in an innocent package of sedate pastel clothing and loafers. It wasn't so much that she had a preference for this style—she couldn't care less as long as the things were well-made. But, she did love seeing the surprised expressions on vampire and human faces alike when she donned her loafers and sweater sets shortly after removing her black vinyl Fangtasia garb. Personally, she believed death and danger were most effective and enticing when disguised. Her Master disagreed.

From her bedroom she walked, brain still heavy with the dissipating haze of her day death, over to her refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of TrueBlood. She popped the bottle into the microwave and shook it until the warmth was evenly distributed. She slugged back a deep gulp and cringed, cursing the vampires who wanted to mainstream, and the stupid Japanese humans who had invented the vile liquid. She wished the fairies and other supes would come out of the damn closet already so they could manufacture something better that would be reasonably priced. She was not going to pay the arm and a leg those humans wanted for their damned bottles of royal blood.

She recalled the first time she'd tasted the bottled synthetic blood. At first she had thought it was some kind of poison, and couldn't understand why vampires seemed happy about the idea. Then, when she'd survived the whole first bottle with nothing more than slight retching, she'd thought it was some kind of joke humanity was playing on its predator, punishing it with misplaced humor. Well, it was she who would have the last laugh tonight when some unsuspecting fangbanger submitted to her every unsatisfied whim. She smirked at the prospect, and her fangs ran down at the imagined scene in which whips, leather, and of course, _real_ fresh blood played prominent figures. She licked her lips in anticipation.

Gagging down the rest of her TrueBlood, her thirst only partially sated, she perused the Shreveport human newspapers, and then the Louisiana vampire newspapers. _Nothing new or exciting in those departments_, she sighed to herself. She checked her horoscope for the day—Gemini (her birthday was in early June, when she became vampire, of course)—and was not pleased with what she read. She chastised herself for reading the foolish human nonsense, but was irritated by it all the same. She read it again just to further agitate herself. _Oh yes, some fangbanger vermin is in for a hell of a time tonight_, she wickedly thought to herself as her mood grew still blacker.

"_You are on the verge of big changes_," read the offending material. "_Certain people in your life will remind you of who you really are, and your true purpose in life. Don't be afraid to ask others for help, open yourself to new experiences, or rely on someone you perceive as weaker than yourself. You'll feel a little insecure today, but you should embrace this feeling as part of the change._"

She threw the paper across the room. There were more than a few things about that horoscope that bothered her. First, she didn't want change. She'd had enough change over the last few years. She wanted predictable sex and bloodletting with some attractive human blood sacks. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? Second, she didn't want a purpose other than to be a good vampire, good minion, and good fuck. That was her true self. She wanted nothing beyond what she already had. She was sure she didn't. Then there was the real problem. The very idea of asking another for help, especially someone weaker than herself made the synthetic bile she'd just consumed rise to the center of her throat.

Still, she knew why she was upset—she felt that there was some truth to the worthless human drivel. She felt it the same way she thought there was some wisdom to _Dear Abby's_ often insipid and obvious advice.

When being truly honest with herself and not hiding behind her carefully cultivated feeling-less vampire façade, she realized that she _was_ feeling insecure. This bothered her because a vampire as old as she should feel anything _but_ insecure. She was beautiful. She was the child of a powerful and ancient Master. She was feared and respected throughout the vampire community, and was desired throughout the human community—by men and women alike. She started to feel better as she repeated these mantras in her own mind, but was unable to divest herself of the underlying feeling of insecurity.

Pam then stood and ventured a glance at her face in a hallway mirror, located opposite her bedroom door. This particular mirror was, in a way, oddly reflective of her. It was rounded with two sets of copper wiring throughout. The first (and outermost) copper wire pattern was cut in a jagged octagon throughout the mirror, dividing it into equal sections. It looked harsh and linear. The second (and innermost) copper wiring was a circle that framed the useful part of the mirror. She thought she was like this—a contradiction of round softness on the edge, jagged danger in the middle, and another round, soft core at her center.

Tired of gazing only at her face, which was revealing to her no secret insight into her insecurity, Pam ambled over to the full length mirror on the inside of her closet door. Once in front of the mirror she dropped her silky robe, and regarded her naked body with a critical eye. She knew she was close to flawless. She was thin, but with hips and medium sized breasts. She had been turned fairly young, so her body was preserved in its youth—prior to any unsightly gravity-induced effects. She ran her hands over her iridescent skin, enjoying its cool softness.

Pam smiled at her reflection, and was about to replace the robe in its rightful place over her shoulders when the realization hit her like a stake to the heart. She knew the source of her insecurity—or rather, she knew the sources. There was, of course, one main source, but a few collateral sources as well. She was nearly knocked over by the force of the realization, and had to sit down on the edge of her bed.

She heard her clock tick off several uncomfortable minutes before the spinning of the world's axes slowed, and she was willing to deal with the truth. The primary reason for her insecurity and moodiness was none other than her friend, the telepath Sookie Stackhouse.

She rolled the idea around in her head like she would roll different vintages of blood around in her mouth to savor each unique flavor. She needed to be cautious with how she approached this revelation. At first, she laughed out loud and refused to believe it. It was delusional. How could a beautiful and powerful vampire such as herself feel cowed by a little human woman? To a nearly immortal like her, the length of Sookie Stackhouse's life would resemble the length of a mid-afternoon summer thunder storm that passes rapidly by with vibrant and brilliant intensity.

She recalled listening to her various human companions as she had made them describe this phenomenon. She had never experienced such a thing in her youth, but encountered the pleasing after-storm scent when she had lived on the eastern coast of the United States many years prior. She'd smelt the heady dampness of the drying rain rise up through the thick night air and had become intrigued with its source, demanding a description of the event from any who would indulge her.

She listened quietly and rapturously as her companion would describe with great detail (mostly due to glamour) the initial presence of the hot and oppressive summer sun, the impending approach of a dark cloud (a thunderhead, one had called it), the intense bursts of thunder and lightning, the torrent of rain, and the streaming burst of sunlight that inevitably parted the dark clouds. They had said this could all occur within the course of a few minutes. It had touched her, the brief intensity of the event, and she was momentarily awed by the natural things she was deprived of knowing. A solitary tear had broken free as she thought this. She had immediately fed from her human to ease her pain.

The longer she reflected on it, the more apt she felt the description. In her mind, Sookie Stackhouse _was_ a mid-afternoon summer storm. The plucky and stubborn little telepath had blown into their lives on a thunderhead, and would dissipate after a brief but intense spell. Why _her_ life and the lives of those vampires around her had become the summer day was not for her to know. She could only blame (and thank) the vampire Bill Compton.

When she thought on that, she could blame Bill Compton for many things. She'd never really cared for the vampire, thinking that he was incredibly foolish for a vampire of his age. She knew her master shared some of those feelings about Bill as well. She'd thought Bill doubly foolish when he walked into Fangtasia with the luscious blond girl, who clearly had no business in a vampire bar, (_she'd even tried to shake my hand, for crying out loud!_) and expected none of the other vampires to take notice. Then, when he permitted the fragile mortal to risk her life by asking questions about dead fangbangers—and of Eric, no less!—she'd thought him beyond foolish. She'd thought he'd lost his mind.

After the little telepath had alerted them to the presence of police and they'd taken shelter nearby, she'd told her Master of her suspicions about Bill's state of mind. She had begged him to let her stake the crazy vampire before he could cause more trouble than he was worth. He'd just laughed and told her that it would all end up working in their favor. She'd sulked for an entire day night after that. In hindsight, of course, her Master had been correct. He usually was. She was glad it was he who had changed her and not some stupid fool of a vampire like Bill.

Of course, after she'd gotten to know Sookie Stackhouse a little better, she realized that Bill never really had much of a choice about that night. She also thought he might be a bit smarter and saner than she'd surmised. She knew enough of Sookie Stackhouse and her obstinate refusal to bend to the sage advice of others to know the little danger magnet would have gone to Fangtasia alone. She would have asked questions. Then she probably would have been killed and dumped in a swamp somewhere.

When Pam learned that Bill had been acting under order of the Queen of Louisiana to seduce and protect the little telepath, she was awestruck. She understood why the Queen chose Bill—easy to use and manipulate—but couldn't understand how he'd managed to keep Sookie Stackhouse alive as long as he had. She didn't think he had it in him. When he'd agreed to let the little human help her Master question their human servants, she'd thought for sure the fragile woman's days were numbered. They probably still were.

Of course, she realized that Bill wasn't the only one with an interest in keeping Sookie Stackhouse alive and useful. No, the little telepath really had a legion of men—shifters, Weres, and vampires—who wanted her (alive, that is). The biggest shock for Pam came when her own Master, an ancient vampire who was also a powerful sheriff, staked another vampire in order to save the telepath's life. She'd thought Bill's brand of madness and stupidity might have been contagious, and wondered if she'd be infected too.

Her Master had explained his reasons, but it all sounded like subterfuge. She'd known that he, like Bill, had fallen victim to some obsessive fascination with the little telepath. She'd also known that Eric was too old and proud to admit such to himself. He'd give her a barrage of reasons, and she'd roll her eyes until he bellowed and threatened about no less than fifty different types of painful torture as punishment for her impertinence. She would quickly drop her gaze to the floor and apologize, ever the submissive child, but he'd known she hadn't meant it. He couldn't really be angry with her anyhow, not when he knew she was right.

It was this sort of madness and danger that seemed to surround the little telepath. In Pam's view Sookie left broken-hearted men, and destroyed empires in her wake. _But_, Pam reasoned, _she also has saved lives—including mine_. It was this bravery in the face of an obviously cursed life that made Pam so insecure.

Pam chewed on that thought for a moment because she realized it wasn't the full explanation. In a way she envied the little mortal's unyielding loyalty in the face of certain death. She knew she would never have done many (or any) of the brave things Sookie had. Still, her envy was fleeting and superficial. She regarded Sookie as a friend, and an extraordinary human—not that this was any high compliment—but she thought Sookie was an extraordinary _being_. _Well, at least she is never boring_, Pam revised to herself with a smirk.

After some knitting (she'd unconsciously picked up a pair of mittens she was knitting for Sookie's witch-friend, and her occasional playmate, Amelia) and introspective thinking, she decided that the additional reasons for her insecurity extended from her Master's attachment to the danger magnet that was Sookie Stackhouse. Her fear was wrapped up in the fact that she thought this attachment eventually would lead to all three of their deaths (and probably even the fool Bill's death).

Pam glanced up at her doorway, as if negative thoughts of her Master's bonded would make him suddenly appear raging and swinging his old broadsword. She was being paranoid. She knew he would have staked her for doubting his ability to protect them. He would have staked her twice, were it possible, for thinking ill of his bonded. She kept all of her doubts to herself—all the time—and it weighed on her after a while. She had felt the weight grow heavier in the months since that ruthless asshole de Castro had swept in and pulled the rug out from under their feet. She felt almost a grudging respect for the intrepid vampire, but that was as positive as she would allow her feelings for the scheming lothario and his irritating underling to become.

She knew that the de Castro/Madden combination was an especially tricky and dangerous pairing. They had controlled the Nevada regime with an iron fist, and had extensive dealings with the human mafia and governments. It was no small matter that this was the regime that had taken over. She thought it likely that both De Castro and his scheming underling would come to covet much of what her Master and his area had to offer—including a percentage of Fangtasia's profits, Bill's database, and the plucky little telepath who was well-known and had saved the King's own pathetic life.

She knew the Master and remaining Louisiana vamps would need their wits about them to prevent any further hostile action. De Castro would take no issue with destroying all the remaining Louisiana vamps, and would happily replace them with his own people. Of course, the easiest path to accomplishing this would be through manipulation or theft of her Master's greatest weakness. Everyone in the Louisiana territory knew this. Everyone except the little telepath herself, that is.

Still, you cannot undo what has been done. You must take what you have and adapt it to suit your needs. This is why she has repeatedly tried to convince her Master to go and claim what is his. She counted the times she has nearly kidnapped her only human friend for her Master. The total came somewhere close to around ten times. The plots always consisted of snatching her during this absurd "Girl's Night Out" Sookie was always referring to. Each time she had told her Master of her plan to attend a "Girl's Night Out," he'd threatened her with a different fifty forms of torture and death. He wanted to _do it on his own time._

_Well_, she'd told him, _your time is eternal. Hers is brief. You better make your move before one of those damn shifters or humans or whatnot swoops in and pulls her right out from under you. Or worse, that old mortal enemy, Death!_ He'd punished her for that comment. She hadn't enjoyed it, and had remained out of his Sookie affairs for the last two weeks. She was growing ever less patient and ever more concerned as her Master avoided his bonded. Realizing the futility of her thoughts, she decided to dress for Fangtasia in an attempt to chase the doubt from her mind. As much as it displeased her to do nothing, she would have to trust her Master's thousand years-worth of decision-making and collective instinct.

Sighing, she rose from her bed and drifted past her open closet doors. She scoured the "Fangtasia" section of her closet, and selected her favorite fangbanger-magnet outfit. It was a black satin, low-cut, and fitted floor-length dress with an accompanying corset. The sleeves of the dress were trailing, and the insides, which turned out and created the trails, were blood red. The trails matched the ties patterned across the black corset. She admired her reflection in the mirror and sighed, wondering if she was getting all "vamped" up for nothing. Hey, even vampires get the blues.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**: Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Sookie Stackhouse series or any of its characters. These belong to Ms. Harris (and HBO/Alan Ball). Like all the other avid fans out there, I can only hope they don't mind if I borrow these fascinating characters for a little while.

A/N: This chapter "piggy-backs" off of the first one, but lacks the introspective style. It is really just a bridge to the action/story that will lead Pam back to her self evaluation, as she never quite resolved it. Also, I wanted to experiment with some dialog between her and Eric. As always, comments and feedback are welcomed and appreciated. They are motivating, and will help me adjust my writing style and story to make it more enjoyable. Thanks for reading!

If Pam had been feeling a little insecure when she woke, she snapped right out of it when she heard the crunching gravel of her drive, and the accompanying purr of her Master's Corvette. _Ridiculous car_, she thought, _like painting a damn target on your back_. Hers was much more sensible, of course, but she would never say that to his face. He loved that Corvette more than . . . well . . . more than he loved her, of that she was certain.

She fixed a bored expressionless gaze on her face and glided out the front door. This new routine of traveling together irritated her. It reminded her of those silly humans who rode around in the big vans or sport utility vehicles, chattering away as they pretended to save money and gasoline. She vaguely recalled that humans referred to this habit as "carpooling." She enjoyed pools, and cars, but could not understand how the two related in this context. In any case, she liked her Master, but hated his driving and showy car. Even more than his driving, she hated his criticism of her own driving, which was far smoother and less aggressive than his.

She was smart enough, however, to keep her mouth shut and "carpool" as her Master requested. He had established this new routine to account for any potential attacks on their lives. The routine was not to have a quantifiable, traceable routine. Sometimes he would pick her up, sometimes she would pick him up, and sometimes they would drive separately, or ride in other vamps' vehicles. He wanted to be certain they never traveled solo, or in a predictable manner. He wanted them never to be ensnared, or caught unawares.

She understood this rationale, and thought it would probably work. But, she secretly hoped that whoever he feared would get it over with and attack them already so that she could go back to her own routine.

"Good evening." She didn't even glance in his direction when she entered the passenger side of the vehicle.

"Good evening." His tone possessed the same boredom as hers. _Well, what do you expect to happen when you've known someone for hundreds of years?_

Tonight was supposed to have been a "separate" driving night for the two vampires. She was to have departed her home at 8:00 p.m. in her silver Volvo, while he was to have left from his home immediately after sundown. She was curious why her Master called her at 7:00 p.m. and told her to be ready and waiting for him to pick her up at 7:30 p.m., but she knew better than to ask. He would perceive that as questioning his authority. Though she has often questioned his authority, she could sense his tension, and was not in the mood for a fight—damned feelings of insecurity.

Instead, she waited; keeping her gaze fixed over the darkening horizon and the shadowy single story homes whizzing past. She'd never found Northern Louisiana a beautiful country; it was too flat and uninspiring. She enjoyed the rugged mountains of the West, and the rolling hills of the East. Her Master, on the other hand, was oddly at ease among the suburban sprawl and pedestrian architecture. He was more content in this little corner of the world than he had been in anywhere during all the years of their association.

With her peripheral vision she observed her Master's hands tapping ever so slightly on the gear shift. His face was blank and expressionless, and he was silent. Something was definitely . . . _how do the humans say it_, she wondered. _Oh yes_, she thought, _something is definitely "up."_ Again, she would not ask him. Instead she will wait for him to divulge his concerns. In the world of vampires, at least where hierarchy and problems are concerned, do not speak unless spoken to. This is doubly so if the problems happen to involve the hierarchy. This clichéd mantra had saved her hide more than a handful of times.

She continued staring out the window, noting that a few seconds had passed since her Master had tapped his fingers. She wondered what he was waiting for. Perhaps he was baiting her, trying to get her to break the silence? Doubtful. He rarely, if ever, played those types of games anymore, and she has done nothing (lately) that would warrant punishment. _No_, she thought, _he is definitely concerned about something. I'll know when it's time to know_.

Pam remained motionless for the next minute, refusing to shift positions, head carriage, or any other aspect of her attitude that might reveal her internal impatience. She barely blinked an eye when her Master took a wrong turn leading away from Fangtasia. _This is not good_, she thought, _but I will not break. I will wait for him to speak. _In truth, she didn't trust her ability to keep her tone and facial expressions entirely neutral. Her Master is extremely adept at reading body language and facial expressions, however fleeting.

"So Pam," when he finally spoke it was in Old Norse, which she had learnt from him within the first ten years of her second life, "we have a bit of a problem."

"What kind of a problem?" Her response was carefully neutral, and her voice lethargic, while her inner-monologue considered a series of scenarios. Most involved protecting the danger magnet Sookie Stackhouse, and a fight with Victor Madden. _Ooooh_, she thought to herself, _an opportunity to take out that domineering asshole. I hope I get to do it with my own bare hands. _It took quite a bit of effort for her to prevent a slow smile from spreading across her face as she visualized tearing Victor apart limb by limb.

"I have received word that both my authority and that of the King will be challenged by an outside source seeking to cast doubt on Felipe's ability to handle such a large amount of territory." He paused to let the words have their full effect. In her mind this speech meant that he did not know the exact source of the attack, but he suspected there was truth to the rumor that the challenge would come from an outside kingdom.

She also surmised that he believed the outside source had an inside track advantage—or at least she hoped it did. "Do you suspect Madden?" It was nearly impossible for her to suppress the glee that came with the idea of having a legitimate excuse to kill him.

This question elicited a smile and small chuckle from her Master. He sensed what feelings motivated it, and she suspected he harbored a few of his own ideas about Victor that tended toward the homicidal. "Not at present." There was a brief pause, and his next words were careful: "He is the one who informed me of the whispering." He glanced at her out of the corner of his right eye with a slightly raised eyebrow.

This was her Master's amused expression, and she could practically see the wheels turning behind their light blue façades. "That's interesting," she replied. It was best to say no more than this. She knew he had already devised a plan to combat the potential outsider attacks, and simultaneously expose Victor as an inside connection. "What is the plan?"

"Tonight we shall create a bit of a diversion. We will use this diversion to hasten the actions of the threatening party. We will see who this diversion draws out of the woodwork." His face was again expressionless and bored, but Pam could hear the excitement building in his voice.

"What role am I to play in this?"

"You will incapacitate my attacker."

"I see. Will there be a signal?"

The blankness that coated his face dissipated for a moment. A bigger smile crept over his face, and his chest swelled as he straightened his posture, asserting his superior prowess and authority. "You will smell him. We are going to his home now to obtain a garment and his scent." His smile broadened further at her questioning expression. "This has been carefully orchestrated. He is not home now. He received _very_ explicit instructions about when and how to attack." She hated these blatant shows of masculinity and testosterone that lingered on through a male vampire's second life, but could still appreciate the things it did to his muscular physique and chiseled face.

"Instructions from whom?"

"From an anonymous tipster who has reported to the human Fellowship of the Sun member that I am one of the most abominable threats in the vampire world. The letter he received explained that I am away from my second in command at very specific times during the night. During one of these times, which was specifically indicated as midnight, by the way, he is to retrieve a stake from the men's bathroom. The instructions specified that this stake was previously smuggled into and deposited in the restroom for this purpose, and was hidden in the tank of the only stall in the entire bathroom. He is to retrieve it and hide it under his jacket, and then attempt to stake me in front of the entire club."

"This is a good plan, Master, but very risky . . . . Should the human get anxious, or something go wrong . . . ." Pam's voice was submissive, and she looked down at her lap. She did not want him to perceive this as a challenge, but she also did not want to lose her Master this night.

"Do you perceive a reason that you should not be able to fulfill your role?" His voice was soft, but threatening. She knew she must proceed regardless of her doubts, and that she should expect little in the way of reassurance.

"No, of course not, Master. I will do exactly what is necessary of me."

"Besides, I will know his smell, and will be prepared if he 'jumps the gun,' as the humans say." His smile returned. "Besides, I do not believe it likely that he will do anything other than what is asked of him. He has been led to believe that his informant will be present and watching his every move. Should he conduct any part of this mission in a manner diverging from the instructions, his life will be forfeit immediately, and another loyal member of the Fellowship will be recruited to receive the honor and glory of staking one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in Louisiana." He was using an impassioned and booming voice, and she could tell immediately that he was quoting the contents of the letter verbatim.

"Very well, Master, I look forward to killing the pathetic little bloodsack." She smiled at her Master as they slowed to a stop next to a small soccer field.

"He is not to be killed Pam. We need him to recite the contents of the letter—whether it is out loud after some . . . _persuasion_ . . . or after Sookie has read him." His voice was firm, and she understood that this was an important part of the plan. "None of the others know of this, of course, and this is why _you_ must execute your part of the plan," he continued. "We _must _be able to question him for the information about the letter as he was ordered to destroy it, and no copy will exist by the time the investigation begins."

She realized at once the amount of detail and preparation her Master had put into the plan, and how much potential there was for things to go wrong. "Don't worry so much, Child, it does not become you. Everything will be fine. Even if something goes wrong, there will be other times and other plans. I'd just like to get this moving, and I'd prefer not to get staked in the process."

His voice was light and playful, but she could almost read something underneath it. Both of them knew it was not in her nature to question, or fret. She was certain he perceived this as well as her, if not better.

At this, she swung open the car door, and prepared to rise. Her Master did not move, and she looked at him questioningly. "I cannot go with you. My scent cannot touch anything near that house. No one must know I've been here. I can send you after he divulges the information under the cover of an investigation, and this will explain the presence of your scent in the house. Touch as little as possible, and bring a shirt that smells like it has recently been washed. He was instructed to wear clean, dressy clothes to Fangtasia. This way, we can smell him and his detergent or other scents that might be mingled."

She nodded. "The address, Master?"

"425 Butterfield Court. The bedroom is on the far left at the back of the house. Be brief. We are on a tight timeline tonight."

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Same disclaimer applies. I do not own these characters. Charlaine Harris has sole rights to the characters and places of "Sookieverse," I'm just having a little fun with them.

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The night air and the ritual of the hunt exhilarated Pam. The idea that her present actions would lead to later bloodshed aroused her, and her floating body nearly quivered from the excitement and anticipation. She loved feeling like this; the extra adrenaline and arousal heightened her senses. She could smell the different types of trees, the creeping wisteria in an overgrown garden, the smell of cut grass, and a recent dampness—possibly an afternoon shower?—wafting up from the earth.

It took her a moment to settle her mind after it was inundated by all of these different sensations. She focused her sharp vampire vision, and honed in on two nearby street signs. She knew her Master's mind well enough to know that she would find the correct street approximately five miles from where he had parked the Corvette.

She observed Butterfield Court immediately below her, and slowly lowered herself to the ground in a thick patch of shrubbery. She was careful to avoid any yards with dogs. She couldn't decide what to think about dogs. Sometimes she felt that dogs were an unintelligent species—probably due to her dealings with werewolves, for whom she bore little to no respect. Other times, she felt they sensed and understood things all other creatures of the earth could not.

Take their reaction to vampires, for instance. Unlike cats, dogs feared vampires, and barked furiously when they saw the predators approaching; alerting their human companions to the potential danger. She had to respect that fierceness and loyalty. On the other hand, she hated the way they smelled, and the fact that they were always leaving steaming piles of feces in inconvenient places. She had almost landed in a pile when she was too focused on her task to pay attention to where the smell was coming from. The disgusting smell of it had lingered in her nose for the entire night. Her Master had roared with laughter when she told him the story and continued to wriggle and rub at her nose in an attempt to get rid of the stench. It was not a mistake she would ever . . . ever . . . make again.

She made her way to the next block, and spotted the house. The yard and exterior were so well-kept she wondered whether or not the owner suffered from what humans called OCD. She knew this OCD was considered a bad thing, but she thought more humans needed to be OCD. In her experience, most of the worthless bloodsacks were so flighty they'd walk around without their heads if they weren't attached. _Wait, where have I heard that before?_

She briefly wondered if it was a sign that she was reading too much human material if she was starting to _think _in their clichés. She would have to evaluate that question later. _Now_, she thought, _is the time to focus on the task at hand._ _Must get the vermin's shirt. Must get it quickly and with little evidence of my presence in the home. _

One of her Master's day men emerged from the bushes, looking a little shaken. "I'm only going to step in, and invite you in. I ain't sticking around for this." His voice was cracking, and he was clearly nervous. She half expected him to say that he hadn't signed up for this, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. She wondered how her Master was going to secure the man's silence in the event of interrogation, but decided that it was not her concern. She was not going to worry about his details.

She jimmied the lock, and the door was open in a matter of seconds. The human man stepped only marginally into the home—enough so that he was touching the carpeted edge of the floor—and whispered, "c-c-come in." Once he saw Pam step over the threshold he took off running (faster than she'd thought he could move) toward the woods and creek behind the house.

Another rush of adrenaline and lust flowed through her as she entered the safe haven of her prey. Her fangs ran down, and her skin tingled as if electric currents were brushing along every centimeter of her skin. She again calmed herself by focusing on the task at hand—obtaining the shirt—and reminded herself that she would get to have fun and feed later.

The inside of the house was just as neat as the outside, and she understood why her Master had chosen the man. This organized little human would see to it that the plan was carried out in exact accordance with her Master's instructions. It was moments like this that renewed her respect for him, and also annoyed the shit out of her because she knew that _he_ knew it was a good plan. _Arrogant son of a bitch_, she thought.

Predictably, the man had left a newly laundered pile of clothing on the corner of his bed in nice, neat stacks. She hesitated before taking the blue collared shirt off the top. Surely this detail-oriented man would notice its absence, but then, by the time he would get around to noticing . . . .

A soft scratching sound coming from the next room snapped Pam out of her internal debate.

_What is that?_ She froze and crouched with lightning speed into the corner of the man's bedroom. She flared her nostrils and inhaled deeply but silently to scent out the presence of another. Nothing.

She remained crouched in the corner for another moment when she heard it again. She again tried to smell for something out of the ordinary. Nothing. This was not good. There was no smell of animal, so it wasn't a pet. There was no smell of rats, or sound of scuttling insects. There was only the sound of a light scratching.

_What type of scratching? _She wondered. She strained her vampire hearing and noticed that the sound reminded her of something being moved. But, if something was moving it was very light, and very quiet.

She wondered if she should step into the hall to investigate. The other, more practical side of her stopped her with the thought that surely if someone else was in the house they were there before her and knew she was there. It told her that the other party would have heard her jimmy the lock on the back door. _Why didn't they come to find out why I was here? _

Something was definitely wrong with this situation. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and her fangs ran down. Her rapidly shifting vampire emotions coursed through her: defend, fight, kill, feed, fuck, feed, dominate, defend, fight.

She closed her eyes and steadied her impulses. She was _not_ going out into that hallway. Whatever was out there was not human, vampire, or werewolf. Any other creature she had no desire to meet.

She tucked the Fellowship man's shirt into the front of her corset, and warily exited through the bedroom window. She was glad for the Fellowship man's OCD because he kept the window pane and sills well oiled. There was no loud creaking or sliding sound when she opened it to glide through.

She closed the window behind her and took to the air. She was glad for the cover of darkness, and glad she was clad in her black Fangtasia garb. She could only hope it would shield her from the eyes of whoever, or whatever, else was in that house.

She flung open the Corvette's passenger door, and tossed the shirt to her Master. "Someone was in the house."

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Same Disclaimer: Rights to the Sookie Stackhouse characters are the sole property of Charlaine Harris.

"Impossible," came his reply, "he was instructed to go to Shreveport proper to pick up the number for the bank account for the rest of his fee."

"It was not your Fellowship man, Master." She kept her voice calm and emotionless, but could feel the prickling of unease over her skin as if she had a thousand tiny spider legs marching up and down her body.

"Speak!" It wasn't a shout, but a quiet yet booming rumble. It was his Sheriff's voice—the voice of a 1000 year old creature who had long bended the wills of others to his own. It was a command she could not ignore. The intensity of the voice sent chills up and down Pam's back.

"I do not know what it was. It was not human, were, or vampire. All I heard was a noise. It was a noise as if things were being moved, but very softly . . . secretly." By the time she finished they were already a good distance from the soccer field, her Master's large hands both clenched around the steering wheel.

"I don't understand how this is possible," he whispered. All traces of authority were gone from his tone. "I took all the necessary precautions. There was none of my scent on that letter. I have never been to the man's home. Unless . . . ."

"Unless we were followed," she finished his thought, her voice barely audible even to her. It was what he had been thinking, but her having said it out loud sent him into a string of curses in Old Norse that were so rapid fire she could barely keep up with it. "But that doesn't make sense either. You would have seen or smelt, or heard something unusual. My senses are good, but yours are much better . . . ." This was true, and it was logical, but it did nothing to assuage the unease of either vampire.

They were silent the entire ride back to Fangtasia. The air in the Corvette's interior was thick with tension and a touch of fear. She knew her Master was debating whether he should abandon the plan. It was only quarter after eight, but she knew that her Master had a few more things to do if he wanted to complete the plan, and could not afford to waste time waffling back and forth in indecision.

It was rare that he was so unsure and indecisive—maybe it was something in the air?

Where she had been insecure and uncertain in the early evening, she now felt very sure of herself. It was as if she'd transferred all of her insecurity to her Master. She would take this shift in emotion and use it to their advantage. "This is okay, Master. We will go through with the plan. If someone _was _in the house, and it comes out later we can just say that we'd heard rumors about possible threats from a Fellowship member. We merely went to investigate." She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "See, your brilliant plan is still brilliant."

He turned his head to look into her eyes. She nearly recoiled with fear—not from fear _of _him, but fear _for _him. The look in his eyes was pure exhaustion and frustration. She'd seen it there only once, around a hundred and fifty years prior, when she had decided to leave him and strike out on her own. He had known it was inevitable, as all children must leave their masters. But, she knew he was old and lonely, and had been sad to see her go. She knew he had suffered.

Back then, seeing that type of weakness in her powerful Master had made her sick; it had made her disgusted with him. Now it made her terrified. It was a sign of how much their existences had changed. The source of his fear suddenly seemed obvious to her, "you're not concerned about the plan, are you? You're concerned for Sookie . . . ."

He looked away and gripped the steering will with such force she thought it would crumble to dust beneath his fingers.

"We'll protect her Master." She tried to keep her tone indifferent; avoiding any acknowledgement of weakness. She wanted to be as matter-of-fact as possible, like an animal lying still to avoid their stalking predator. She had no desire to incur his wrath . . . or his uncertainty. She wanted this moment to pass, and quickly. She couldn't take much more of this. She wanted the old Pam and old Eric. She longed for their ferocity and fearlessness.

He nodded, and the confidence returned to the car. He had made some decision and his mind, and she knew that everything—things she knew, things she didn't know, things she would never know—were all in place and finalized in his mind. He would let it all be done, let it all play out, and as she'd heard the gambling humans say . . . let the chips fall where they may. _Game. Set. Match._ She thought; her Master's favorite saying.

. . . . .

It was 11:55 p.m., and Pam was beginning to get bored. The crowd was filled with the typical vermin, and the vermin were ordering the typical drinks, and making the typical passes, and Master was sitting in his typical position. Everything was just typical. She rolled her eyes willing the seconds to pass.

It was not often that an old vampire like her felt antsy, but tonight was one of those nights. If she'd been human she would have been tapping the shiny black toe of her pointed stiletto shoes against the hard floor. She would have been wringing her hands and jumping up and down with anticipation.

As it was, she was vampire, so she stood perfectly motionless counting every second in her mind and imagining every possible scenario. She even allowed herself to imagine the "after" when some ridiculous (but good-looking) fangbanger would crawl over to her, extend his or her neck, and she would take them. It would taste especially good after a fight. She only wished that she could take the Fellowship man. She'd been hunting him all evening, and every time she caught a whiff of his scent her bloodlust nearly spiraled out of control.

Her Master was keeping a careful eye on her. He knew her all too well. He would catch her staring holes into the back of the Fellowship man's head, and then give her a small smile and a playful "No, No" wag of the index finger. She wanted to chop his head off with his own stupid broadsword. That would teach him to deny her the fruits of her labor.

But, she wouldn't do that. She had no desire to spend the next one hundred years chained with silver in some coffin somewhere, and she would probably miss her Master, even if only a little. No, instead she just pouted and turned to the front door where throngs of vermin eagerly awaited their brush with death. She would occasionally sneak a glance at the Fellowship man, and then look away before her Master noticed.

Now that she saw the Fellowship man in person she was sad that she wouldn't get to kill him. He was actually somewhat attractive, and fairly young. She placed him at around age twenty seven. He was muscular and tan with medium blond hair and a chiseled jaw line. Yes, she would have enjoyed breaking him, and then feeding from him. What a pity.

She checked her watch again . . . 11:58 p.m. _Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, it's almost time. Almost time to play. Maybe there is a way I can kill him and not incur the wrath of my Master. Oh, I just want to kill him. No, I want to bed him, taste him, and then kill him. Damn Viking never lets me have any fun._

She was walking toward one of the tables where Judy, one of the new waitresses, was taking an older (obviously tourist) couple's order. The couple shifted in their seats, visibly uncomfortable with being in such close proximity of a vampire (_hello! Vampire bar . . . isn't this what you came for you pathetic bloodsacks?_ She thought irritably). "Judy," she purred, "I have to go to the back to do something for the Master. Watch the door."

"Yes, yes, Miss Pam." Pam gave the timid newbie a forced but friendly smile, and then turned toward the tourist couple with a wider smile, adding a little fang for the fun of it. The woman gasped and the man gaped. His lower jaw might have bounced off the table and then back again. She loved intimidating the out-of-towners. But, tonight she had more fun things to attend to, and began to walk toward the back of the bar.

Her Master had informed her that the Fellowship man was going to stand toward the middle of the floor, closer to the side with the bar. She observed that he was slowly positioning himself in that exact area. She waited until the man was within earshot and shouted to Felicia, which was unnecessary due to vamp hearing but of course this man did not know that. "I'm going to run to the back and get something for Eric!" Felicia just gave her a puzzled expression and a sarcastic tap to the ear as if to say "Shout a little louder, the people in China couldn't hear you!"

Pam just smiled and turned as if to walk away. She glanced at her watch and got very excited as she saw the second hand tick closer to the top. There. It was time. She turned around just in time to see the Fellowship man pull the stake from under his shirt.

Of course, it was at that very moment that Felicia chose to shout, "Wait, Pam! Sookie Stackhouse is on the phone and she says it's an emergency!"

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Disclaimer:

Sorry about the "cliffhanger" from Chapter 4—I didn't mean to leave y'all hanging, but I couldn't find another logical stopping point and I didn't have time to finish Chapter 5. But hey, if it elicits readers and reviews, I'll take it :). Sorry if this chapter is a little long, but I thought all of it was appropriately relevant. So, anyhow, where were we? Oh yes . . . calamity Sookie strikes again:

* * *

"Damn it all to Hell!" Pam heard her Master roar from his "throne" at the center of the club. He'd clearly heard Felicia's urgent entreaty to Pam. For a moment, Pam's world was running in slow motion. She knew that her job was to stop the stake and save her Master, but she was so curious about what disaster calamity Sookie had encountered that she wanted to say damn the stake and let her Master take care of himself.

It was a tough decision that was getting tougher. It was seconds after midnight and the stake was flying through the air toward her Master who was, incidentally, also distracted by Felicia's message. _Shit_, she thought to herself, and like a good little minion she jumped at vampire velocity and grabbed the stake from the air.

In one swift, graceful movement she wrapped her hand around the damp, rough wood and swung it in the direction of the Fellowship man. Too late, and in mid-air, she noticed that the Fellowship man's other hand was _not_ empty. He had come prepared to fight his way out after he fulfilled his duty. The silver of the knife flashed as he wielded it in her direction.

The club, which had gone silent as fangbangers, vampires, tourists, and employees alike tried to decipher the strange scene of a vampire flying through the air, was suddenly filled with a feral and guttural roar. Pam realized that this roar was coming from her own throat, and that it was a roar of pain rather than one of attack. The sick smell of burning, melting vampire flesh filled the air as the man's silver blade sliced through the white skin of her forearm.

Enraged by the Fellowship man's strike, she connected the blunted end of the stake with the soft flesh of the man's head with a quarter of her strength. Crimson liquid sprayed from his nostrils and mouth, covering the screaming fangbangers and tourists, and inciting the bloodlust of the vampires who were now flanking the ordeal. He dropped to the floor with a dull thud, eyes rolling back in his head. Pain was the only thing strong enough to temper Pam's bloodlust and hatred for the man. It was the only thing that kept her from finishing him off—from making him regret the day he was born, and the day he'd decided to cross her and her Master.

She writhed on the ground in pain, picturing all of the ways she would torture him when he was freed from human jail. She would wait just long enough for him to think he had gotten away with it all. He would leave the jail and return to his short and pathetic life thinking that the repercussions of his attack ended with the human form of sanctions. She would show him otherwise. She would drain him to the brink of death time and time again, forcing him to drink TrueBlood to replenish his supply. He would be forced to do the very thing he loathes. She might even make him drink real blood from one of her regular fangbanger pets if she felt particularly vengeful.

Her Master was at her side before she could rise from her position of lying prone on the ground. He was lifting her up, and barking orders. Somehow he had procured the phone from Felicia, retrieved the stake from the ground where Pam had dropped it, and had instructed Clancy to follow behind them with the Fellowship man over his shoulders.

"My lover, what can I do for you tonight? I understand there is some kind of emergency?" A wave of irritation rushed over Pam as she heard her Master's voice take on its husky tone that was all sex. She could not understand men and their constant preoccupation with sex. Couldn't he see that there were more important things going on all around him than seducing Sookie Stackhouse?

She could hear the little danger magnet through the phone, but was in no condition to focus on the words. She closed her eyes and tried to go into "down time," as Sookie called it, in order to help herself heal faster. She would heal, but the silver had slashed a deep gash, and had entered into her bloodstream. She would be sick for hours, perhaps the rest of the night.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, dear one. I must tend to Pam. She was injured defending me from an attack, and is need of care." She could sense her Master's tension and conflict. She knew he was torn between her, the situation at the bar, and his bonded. She wanted him to go to Sookie, but she did not want him to leave. She was not up to handling this situation on her own, and did not trust any of the other Fangtasia vamps to handle it in his absence.

She felt herself being gently lowered onto the couch in her Master's office. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look at him and attempting to ignore his painful probing of her wound. "I know you can hear me Pamela." His tone was stern. He wanted her to listen, but she was not going to listen. She had too many things to think about right now. She needed downtime. He sighed, and placed her arm back by her side.

"Clancy, I am going to the shifter's bar. Apparently, there were multiple attacks in Bon Temps tonight. Felicia has instructions to delay the authorities in the event some meddling human has contacted them. Leave the human to Pam. He is not to be killed. The damage inflicted should be minimal since he was seen here tonight and the authorities will catch wind of this." She heard the door shut behind her Master as he left the office.

She could hear light scuffling noises as Clancy bound the human's feet and arms in one of the office chairs. She could hear an occasional groan from the human, and was sorry to know that her blow had not killed him. This depressed her greatly, especially because he had stabbed her with a silver knife. Oh, how she longed to show the little bloodsack that if you are foolish enough to attack a vampire, you had better finish the job.

With her Master gone, the Fellowship man unconscious, and Clancy in downtime in her Master's chair, the office was silent. Pam's mind whirled with thoughts, images, and plans. She knew that she would need to handle the Fellowship man and the human authorities in her Master's absence. Before she could do that, she needed to decide what exactly had happened that night, and how it all fit together.

First she considered the issue of the faceless impending threat, and the fact that it was Victor who had alerted them to this threat. Second, there was the issue of the unidentified being at the Fellowship man's house. Third, there was the issue that the Fellowship man had somehow procured a silver knife. She was certain her Master had not provided the man with a silver knife, and she doubted this OCD man would deviate from instructions. A third party had infiltrated her Master's carefully planned strike against their enemies. She needed to learn the identity of their attacker before he could use their own strategy against them in the future.

She desperately needed to sit down with her Master, and (as much as it pained her to admit it) Bill. But she couldn't do that because her Master was too busy tending to his obsession with the ever-unlucky Sookie Stackhouse. This brought her to the fourth prong of her thought process. Sookie Stackhouse and others also were attacked. How she did not know, but she knew she would learn the details by the end of the night. She found it very suspicious that these attacks would occur on a night when her Master was otherwise preoccupied with defending his territory. She thought the attacks, the unidentified creature at the house, and the silver dagger were connected.

Someone appeared to be a step ahead of them, and their plan appeared to be elaborate. She thought their adversary also very astute for thinking to include the telepath in the night's distractions. This attacker knew her Master's thought processes and priorities. Pam knew such knowledge would make both her and her Master very vulnerable.

This line of thinking brought her back to her earlier concerns—her Master's preoccupation with Sookie Stackhouse. She'd earlier resolved not to concern herself with her Master's affairs. Now she was not certain she could sit idly by while her Master compromised their survival in favor of protecting someone so weak and fragile. Her Master was drawn to the woman like a moth to a flame . . . _a moth to a flame _. . . she knew this was another human saying, but she felt like it had some significance here.

The import of this saying hit her with a force. She felt like she'd just ingested the purest blood she'd ever tasted. Her mind was as clear and resolved as it had been in the Corvette when her Master had resolved himself to action, and her arm no longer ached.

Pam sat up and was standing in front of the still unconscious Fellowship man faster than a human could register the change in her attitude. She slapped him across the face using only half of her strength. It was enough to cause his eyelids to flutter open. He only groaned. She slapped him again, but with a little less strength—there was no point in sending him further into unconsciousness.

He was conscious now and glaring at her with glassy green eyes. His light blond hair was caked with blood that had settled into a stream down his high tanned cheekbones. The expression he directed at her was a mixture of loathing, fear, pride, and disgust. Hers was probably much the same. She would not hold back the venom of her emotions by wearing any calm vampire veneer, even if she held back her strength. She wanted him to see the power of her strength and superiority. She wanted him to fear for his life. She grabbed his now blood-stained collared shirt and twisted it tightly around his neck. "Who sent you, you pathetic cow?" She leaned into his face, but would not use glamour. She wanted him to remember this.

"Fuck you, dead bitch," he growled and then spat her cheek. She moved her head slightly to the right and the spit missed her. She had to hand it to him. He was staring death in the face and refused to back down. If she did not hate the man so much she might have admired his spirit. Still, she had a point to prove.

She pressed the heel of her hand to the underside of his chin, and pressed backwards until she heard him choke out the word "fuck." When his neck was fully extended, she allowed her fangs to run to their full length, and made certain that he could see this. She could feel his panic welling up. She knew that the prospect getting bitten by a vampire was this man's worst fear. Having a hungry, and angry vampire inches from his neck ready to strike was this fear brought to painful reality.

"Nooooo" she heard him try to moan through his closed throat. "Oh yes," she responded in a cold and cruel voice.

"Pam," she heard the idiot Clancy addressing her with a warning voice. _What a fool_, she thought. She hissed at him to hold his tongue. He shut his mouth, clearly the inferior in the room. "Now," she hissed into the Fellowhip man's ear as she ran her tongue and tips of her fangs over his ear and down his throat, "there was something you wanted to tell me." She kept her voice low, smooth, and deadly. The man was practically hyperventilating.

"F-f-f-f-f-uck y-o-o-o-u," came his reply.

_Wrong answer_, she thought.

. . . .

She knew he was nearby when she felt his anger and conflict consume her own emotions. It had been a while since she'd seen him—they'd definitely been avoiding each other—and she was a little overwhelmed by all of the feelings coming through the bond. She wasn't sure she could stand to be any closer to him than she already was. She didn't know how a body could hold as much emotion as she was holding, and then embrace an entire other being's swell of emotion.

Well, Sookie was definitely going to need to try and hold it together now. He was _so_ angry. She'd felt him angry before, but for some reason, he was _really_ angry, and what was that other emotion . . . _annoyed . . .excited_? Oh, yes, Eric was definitely excited. He was angry and excited. She wondered what could have happened at Fangtasia to cause harm to Pam, and to make Eric _this_ angry . . . and excited.

She could feel him getting closer, and still closer. She knew he was really close now because the anger, excitement, lust, and _happiness _(or was that her emotion? Damned blood bond) were so overwhelming she had to run into the bathroom and lean up against the wall to catch her breath. She pressed a hand to her chest as if it could slow her overactive heart from the outside. No such luck. Still, she couldn't very well hang out in the bathroom all night.

Sookie took a deep breath, and reminded herself that she had only called Eric on Sam's behalf. She wasn't even going to talk to him, or interact with him. No, she would just wait her tables and try to get everyone's mind off of the incident. She steadied her emotions (as best as she could), and put up her shields. When she walked past Sam's closed office door and into the bar she noticed that Eric was seated at one of the booths . . . and the booth was in her section. _Crap_, she thought to herself, _why is he sitting there? He's supposed to be talking to Sam in his office_.

She shot Sam a "look," and he just shrugged and nodded in the general direction of the ancient vampire . . . and bane of her existence. "What can I get for you tonight, Eric?"

"A bottle of O neg, please, Dear one." Of course, his glittering sapphire eyes were fixed on hers the entire time, and of course her stomach flip-flopped a few times. She would describe the sensation as feeling like there was some little person trapped in the pit of her stomach taking tap dancing lessons. But then, her stomach always seemed to do flip flops when Eric was around. She thought she should be able to control the sensation by now, but again, no such luck.

"Sure," she replied, walking over to the bar and giving Sam the order. She glared at her boss for another moment before she acted on her impulse to speak, "Sam," she whispered in her 'I mean business tone,' "why is he sitting in my section? I thought you were supposed to be meeting with him about the, uh, incident?"

"I am, but he wanted to speak to you first. If you want, we can all go into my office and talk together."

Sookie nodded slowly and said, "that would probably be for the best. I mean, we'll be able to give better information if we both tell him, right?"

"Right," he said in return, but there was a small smile playing at the outside corners of his lips.

She turned to look at the gorgeous Viking vampire who was clad in his usual jeans and fitted black t-shirt. He was still staring at her, but now there was a frown on his face. He was up and at her side, towering over her before she could even gesture in his direction. She heard a few surprised gasps from the tables, but when she looked around everyone had returned to their food. Everyone was still shaken, and no one wanted to attract the attention of the scary Viking vampire, or the crazy telepathic barmaid.

The three of them went into Sam's office, and he shut the door before taking his usual place in his squeaky office chair. Eric, of course, was the first to speak. "So, shifter, I understand you were attacked?" His tone was bored, and he was still staring at Sookie even though he was addressing Sam.

Sam frowned but nodded, "Something like that, but . . ." he was about to continue but the phone in his office rang. "Argh," Sam gave a low growl but picked up the phone, "Merlotte's."

Sookie stared at Sam, determined to look anywhere but at the piercing blue of Eric's eyes. She noticed that though Sam had yet to speak his frown had deepened. She also sensed Eric's demeanor change, and she was certain he could hear the person on the other end of the telephone. _Damned vampires and their ridiculous hearing_, she thought. She was almost jealous because she knew she was the only person in the room who couldn't hear the telephone conversation from across the room. It was yet another reason to wonder whether she was spending time around all the wrong people.

She sensed Eric stiffen, and felt tension and concern shoot through the bond. She finally turned to look at him and saw . . . worry? concern? fear? . . . in his eyes. That was not a good sign. She needed to break the silence while she waited for Sam to rejoin the conversation. "So, is Pam okay? What happened?"

"Pam is fine. A man came to Fangtasia with the goal of staking me. She prevented the attack and rendered the man unconscious, but not before he cut her forearm with a silver dagger." Sookie gasped in response to this information. She couldn't imagine anyone being fast or sneaky enough to stab Pam. Sensing her confusion, he elaborated; "your call came through right as the man threw the stake. Pam was momentarily distracted, and failed to observe the dagger until too late. Still, it was a minor wound and she will heal fine."

A wave of guilt washed over Sookie. She felt like it was her fault that Pam had been distracted from the fight. It was her fault that Pam could have been killed if the man had been able to wield the dagger closer to Pam's body. She couldn't help but think that tonight's incident at Merlotte's had been her fault. She felt a spike of calm and reassurance come through the bond, and threw Eric a look that was something between grateful and annoyed. She was grateful for the effort, but annoyed because she wanted to feel guilty without him interceding.

Sookie's attention was snapped back to her boss's phone conversation when she heard the name "Amelia." _Why is Sam talking to Amelia instead of me? She's my roommate! _Her annoyance was beginning to flare, and she felt Eric push comfort through the bond. She tried to brush it away. She was annoyed that Sam had spoken with Amelia, and hadn't even offered to let _her _speak to her own roommate. "Sam," she started to yell at him, but no sooner was the word out of her mouth then Eric had raised a large white hand to silence her. It almost sent her over the edge, but the expression on Sam's face was a warning. She kept her mouth shut.

Another moment or two of silence passed before Sam finally replaced the phone on the receiver. He closed his eyes. For a moment he looked really tired, and almost defeated. She cleared her throat as if to speak. Eric was the one who sent the warning look this time. She forced herself to bite her tongue and wait. She honestly did not understand all of the drama and suspense. Why did she have to be in the dark?

"Sookie," Sam finally spoke with his soft, comforting friend voice, "there was an attack on your house." He let out a long puff of air before he continued. "So, there was an attack on your house, an attack on my bar, and Bill's house was burned to the ground." It sounded like Sam was working through an algebra problem for all the lack of emotion in his voice.

"Bill's house . . . my house . . . ?" She started to press for more information, but was interrupted by Eric's voice that was certainly more commanding than her own.

"My bar was also attacked tonight." He said just as smoothly and impassively, but Sookie noticed that he flicked a glance in her direction. She knew she should expect undead company at her house that night or the next. _Here we go again_, she thought.

"What happened to my house?" She interjected before she could get shut out of the conversation.

"Well," Sam raked a hand through his sandy hair a few times, clearly nervous, "Amelia says the wards were breached and that the same thing that happened here happened there. You know, some bricks with slurs attached were tossed through the windows. One damn near hit your roommate Octavia. The crazy thing is, Sookie, that the slurs included the usual 'fangbanger' and 'whore' type stuff, but also included things like 'witch bitches' and 'die, black magic freaks.'"

"Ooookay," she worked through that in her head. It was bad that someone unfriendly knew that she had witches living there. It was also bad that the bricks thrown through the Merlotte's windows referenced the fact that Sam was two-natured. Many in the supernatural community knew that Amelia and Octavia were witches, and that Sam was a shifter, but why would they insult them, and why would they burn down Bill's house? It just didn't add up, or at least she thought it didn't add up. How would the Fellowship or other ordinary humans know about Sam, Amelia, and Octavia?

Still, she thought, it sounded like everyone was okay, and nothing was burned at her house. She supposed this was a minor incident in the grand scheme of everything, and began to relax a little. Then she thought about Bill; she didn't really want to know, but felt compelled to ask. "Sam, what about Bill?"

"Sookie, Bill is fine. His house is all but gone, but he is fine. I'm not done telling you about your house. There's more." His tone was soft, but commanding. He wanted her to stop shooting off her mouth and start listening. She wanted him to get to the damn point. She made a "hurry up" gesture with her hands. Eric smiled. It was one of his favorite gestures. _Dammit_, she thought and frowned. "Amelia also said that apparently someone was _in_ the house. She said she found your bedroom door ajar. She thought that was odd so she went in to investigate and found your closet doors, and drawers, opened and ransacked. She couldn't tell if anything was missing."

_Oh crap_, she thought, _this is going to be a loooong night_.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**: A/N: This chapter will again be written from dual POVs (Sookie/Pam/Sookie) to help with continuity. I hope you all enjoyed the previous chapter despite the fact that it was really long. This one also is a bit longer due to the dual POVs, but I think the next few should move a bit more quickly and from the Pam POV.

As always, sole copyright belongs to Charlaine Harris.

* * *

_Sookie_

Sam's face crinkled with concern and he rose, moving to stand by her. He placed a warm and comforting hand on her shoulder. She resisted the urge to push him away. She had to admit that it felt nice—not being alone—but she felt like she needed space to think. Still, she didn't want Sam to feel like she was blowing him off.

"Why?" She asked, but her voice barely croaked out. "Why are they going through my stuff? I mean, I understand the bricks and all of that, but why through my stuff?" Sam and Eric exchanged sideways glances. "Wait a minute," she thought out loud, "okay, it sucks about my stuff, but there's something more here."

She closed her eyes as if to concentrate harder. Sam and Eric were silent. "Every supernatural person I know was attacked tonight . . . so far," she reasoned. "I need to call Alcide and Calvin! Oh my goodness, I need to make sure everyone is okay."

"Sookie," it was Eric's turn to be soothing and calm, "we'll figure that all out tomorrow. What we need to do right now is figure out what they took from you."

All she could do was nod in response. She suddenly felt very tired and very vulnerable. Her head felt like a lead weight on a toothpick, and her knees felt a little wobbly. "I'm taking her to her home, Shifter, and I'll be back tomorrow night to discuss this situation with you further. I think we may be able to assist each other." Sookie could sense Sam's displeasure and was glad he didn't say anything.

Instead, he just nodded to her. "Call me if you need anything, Sook."

"Thanks Sam," she responded. Her voice was thin and weak. She really wasn't in the mood for this tonight. She especially wasn't in the mood to spend time alone with Eric.

She went to grab her keys from her cubby, but Eric beat her to it. "I'll drive," he said. "I need you to tell me about what happened here tonight. . . . And, you look like you could use a little rest."

She couldn't say she was thrilled with the idea of riding alone with Eric back to her home, but she was tired and appreciated the chance to relax as a passenger. Well, relax as much as she could as Eric punched the gas and sent her aging car into rattling fits. She cast him an irritated glance out of the corner of her eye. He just shrugged and said, "If it breaks, I'll fix it. You know that." She shook her head and let out a sigh.

"So," she broke the silence, "some cars skidded up to the Merlotte's parking lot. Apparently, some people got out and hurled a bunch of bricks in through the windows. Each brick had some paper rubber-banded to it with a slur or threat written on it. Sam gave some of the papers to the police, but for obvious reasons, kept some of the papers secret. No one saw anything about the people who did it."

Eric slowly nodded, but said nothing. She could not tell if he was concentrating or if he just did not care. He had never been a fan of Sam's, and he certainly couldn't care less about Sam's bar. She was sure he just didn't care—he was a vampire, of course. _Damn vampire_, she thought.

"People were hurt, Eric." Her voice was close to a whisper now. "People were hurt because of me." She could feel the tears building behind her eyes. She couldn't figure out why, but she felt that somehow she was the target of these attacks. She couldn't shake the feeling that the injured customers, Sam's bar, Pam, and Bill's house were casualties of a vendetta against her.

"I don't know Sookie." She could sense Eric's skepticism through the bond, his tone of voice, and the expression on his face.

"Well, how can you explain the fact that everyone who was attacked is connected to me in some way?"

He just rolled his eyes. "Sookie, you're up to your eyeballs in supes. You're connected to practically every supernatural in Louisiana, Mississippi, and hell, half a dozen other states. It could be coincidence. We won't know until we figure out how many other supes were targeted." He was quiet for a moment, and she could tell that he was thinking. She just waited. "Sookie, was Sam able to smell anything?"

She tried to recall whether or not she had asked Sam that question. "I don't know. I honestly think I was so shocked by everything that I didn't ask. I called you almost right away, and then spoke with the police, cleaned up a bit, went back to serving to help calm the customers, and then . . . well, you were there."

They were parked behind her house by the end of the conversation. She was glad to be home away from the chaos of the bar, but was not looking forward to dealing with the chaos she was sure to find here as well. She was walking blindly toward the door when she felt Eric stiffen beside her. She stopped walking midstride and felt her heart race. She moved to hide behind Eric. She was in no mood to be attacked tonight. Whoever it was would just have to go through the big Viking to get to her.

Eric laughed when he realized what she was doing. "You're safe, Sookie. It's just your old friend Mr. Compton." His words were flat and dripped with disdain as he said Bill's name. She glared up at him. Well, she was just glaring really, but he was the only one there. She was annoyed at having to face her ex, and at having to walk in to see him with Eric at her side. She was certain the tension would roll through the small house, filling it like fog rolling over the San Francisco bay.

. . . .

_Pam_

Pam leaned her head over the small ceramic sink in Fangtasia's bathroom. The water she splashed over her face was cool and soothing. It helped her mind focus after her recent feeding. She knew she had crossed a line with the Fellowship man. She knew that crossing that line had meant overstepping her boundaries—at least in her Master's eyes. Somehow, she could not find it in herself to care.

She closed her eyes as she rinsed her face with the refreshing liquid and then opened them and watched the water run in pink trails down into the drain. She felt a surge of bloodlust as the last remnants of the Fellowship man's blood disappeared into the invisible piping below the buildings. She had not killed him. No, that was a line her Master had drawn which she would not cross. Oh, but she had made him pay.

She could recall with striking clarity the exact expression on his pathetic face and the exact cadence of his screaming curses as she sunk her fangs deep into his jugular before drawing out the sweet, coppery liquid. It was heavenly, and in that moment of sweet revenge, all her fears and insecurities had been lost to her primal emotions of self-preservation and hunger.

Her private celebration of her victory . . . her revenge . . . would be short-lived, she knew. In the next few days, she would need to work hard to obtain information for her Master. She would need to find out where the Fellowship man had obtained such a blade—the specific type of blade used was extremely rare, especially among humans—and she would need to find out details about the Bon Temps attacks, of that she could be sure. Where Sookie Stackhouse was threatened, she knew there would be much work to do.

When she returned to her Master's office, she found an unexpected guest. _Yes, tonight will be _very _interesting_, she thought to herself. "Bill," she gave him a toothy grin, aware that he was privy to the details of the Sookie Stackhouse drama, but probably would not share, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" She made no effort to check the sarcasm in her voice.

"Eric says that you and I are to stay with him for the next few days." His words were rife with displeasure. She really wished that Bill would learn to hide his opinions a bit better. It would really help them all in the long run. Perhaps his staying with her and her Master would give her a chance to explain this.

"Lovely." This was the only response she would give him. She had no desire to know why he would be invading her Master's safe place. It was bad enough that apparently she would have to stay there for an extended period of time. She knew her Master was not inclined to extend the invitation to Bill . . . or anyone, really . . . without some great need, so she knew better than to question this decision. She was in enough hot water as it was.

. . . .

_Sookie_

Whatever Sookie's worries might have been about Bill's presence in her home, they were misplaced. He had gotten word about Eric's presence in Bon Temps and had turned up to tell Eric that he was going to ground in a safe place because his house had been raised by the fire.

Eric had instructed him to take refuge at his own home and told him to meet up with Pam at Fangtasia. He'd nodded to Eric in gratitude and then given her a curt nod for formality's sake before he disappeared through the front door. _Well_, _that could have gone worse_, she thought with a sigh as she drifted toward her bedroom door.

She hesitated in the threshold. She really did not want to see what was behind there. It was bad enough that there was glass all over the living room and kitchen and spray-painted slurs all over the walls. It was all personal, but the idea of someone going through her clothes and touching her bed was almost too much to bear. She braced herself and pushed open the door.

What she saw knocked the wind right out of her. She felt completely exposed, as if her entire life had been gutted and laid bare for all to see. Drawers were removed from her dressers, and clothes were flung this way and that. Photo albums and other mementos had been shredded or crushed. Pain clawed at her chest, and tears stung at her eyes.

"Who did this Eric?" she whispered. "Why would someone do this?" She looked around at her walls and the crude red spray-painted words that covered them: "Fangbanger whore." "Die, vamp-loving bitch!" "See you in Hell, _Lover_."

Her eyes had passed over each insult in a glazed way, with only a loose understanding of what she was reading. But something stuck out to her, drawing her eyes back to a specific insult. "See you in Hell, _Lover_." The scrawl was sloppy except for the word "Lover," which appeared to be written in strong, fine script. "Oh. My. Eric. Look at this." She walked toward the offending phrase, pointing a shaky finger.

"Sookie, we need to figure out if anything is missing and then we need to leave." He was poking through a pile of mementos the vandals had dumped from a small wooden box on her dresser. "You know you cannot stay here. You should come with me and stay at my house. Pam and Bill also will be staying there. It's really not safe for any of us to be alone." She could practically hear the wheels turning in his brain.

"Eric, I'm not going to stay with you. I'm not going to leave Amelia, or Octavia. I have to stay here and get my home back to livable condition." She glanced around at the carnage that was her bedroom. She wondered if she really could stay in her own house. Her mattress and pillows had been slashed to ribbons, as had her towels.

"You should listen to him, Sookie," she heard Amelia's voice from the doorway. She had been so preoccupied with her own nightmarish thoughts that she hadn't heard her roommate approach. "Whoever did this breached our wards. That's powerful magic. I'm leaving to spend the night with Tray. Octavia has already gone to stay with her family."

"Oh. Okay, so Tray's okay then?" She wasn't sure she really wanted to know. She had no desire to hear more bad news and was getting to a point of overload.

Amelia cast a sideways glance at Eric, who just shrugged, and then looked back in Sookie's direction. Sookie could sense she had something to say, but was afraid to say it. "Well, Tray is okay, but . . . ."

"But . . . ." Sookie parroted. She could feel her eyes widening and her impatience growing. She changed her mind. She wanted to hear the rest of the bad news. She needed all of it, right now, and all at the same time so she could go into overload, shut down, and then slowly recover. She wanted to eliminate the possibility of bad news trickling in slowly over the course of the next few days like a stream of misery.

She dropped her shields and Amelia's thoughts poured in like a monsoon of images, words, and truncated incomplete phrases. She heard Amelia on the phone with Tray who was telling her that his shop had been burned to the ground, along with Alcide's business. There was mumbled talk of problems in Hotshot and with the Jackson Weres. No one knew who was behind the attacks or how many others supes had been affected. The Fellowship was the first name to enter anyone's head, but it didn't fit.

"How could the Fellowship know about Alcide and Sam and Tray? Is that possible? I mean, the Weres and shifters haven't even come out yet . . . ." She was thinking out loud, and she barely registered the partially irritated, partially sympathetic expression on her roommate's face.

"No one knows, Sookie." Amelia chimed in, for once speaking rather than assaulting Sookie with her powerful broadcasting. "Tray thinks it might be rival vamps or Weres or something like that. He said everyone is scattering and finding safe places right now."

"Well, isn't anyone even going to try and fix this mess?" She was starting to lose her cool. She seemed to be the only one concerned with answers. Why was she the only one who seemed to understand that if they didn't find the culprit soon, things would only get worse? "So much can happen in a day! Whomever these people . . . or creatures . . . or whatever they are . . . could attack again tomorrow! Maybe you all aren't going to do anything, but I sure am." _What am I going to do_? She wondered to herself.

"Yes." Eric chimed in for the first time since Amelia had arrived. "You are going to do something; you, Dear One, are going to look around to see if anything is missing. Then, you're going to find a few days worth of salvageable clothes," he looked doubtfully around the room at all of the slashed and shredded garments, "and then you are going to come to my _secure_ home where we can decide the best course of action."

Sookie considered this. What else was she going to do really? She didn't appreciate Eric's nonchalant and authoritative tone as if it had already been decided, but she thought it might be convenient to stay with them until they figured out what was going on. She couldn't very well stay anywhere by herself. _Oh hell_, she thought, _the last thing I need is to be cooped up in a house with a bunch of vampires_. She frowned. Eric shook his head, but a small, satisfied smile played around the edges of his lips. He knew she was about to concede the match.

"Well, it sounds like it's settled then. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Sook." Amelia cast a knowing glance in her direction, which made her want to retract her concession, before bouncing out the front door with an extremely large suitcase in tow. _How long is she planning on staying there_? she wondered.

She spent about fifteen minutes rifling through her scattered (and tattered) personal belongings before settling on a couple of things. She bent down to pick up one of her favorite pairs of underwear and noticed they were not lying flat as if on the floor. Instead, she noticed, they were peaked in the center, as if covering a three-dimensional object. She knew exactly what object she would find: a small wooden box where she kept some of her most prized possessions.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and her fingers shook as she reached to remove the underwear. It was clear that the lid of the box was ajar, but she could only make out a few of the objects that were supposed to be there. She looked harder, moving the underwear, box, and trinkets. There was definitely something missing.

She tried not to panic when she realized what was missing. _It could have rolled anywhere_, she rationalized, _this place is such a mess it could be trapped under anything_. She started shifting things with greater urgency. She was throwing things over her shoulder now, and moving about her floor in a kneeling position.

"What is it, Sookie?" He was incredulous. He could sense her panic, and knew something was wrong, but he had no clue how wrong things really were.

"The bullet," she whispered. "Eric, the bullet . . . I kept it here. It's gone."

She sensed his confusion. "What bullet, Sookie? Do you keep bullets to your gun? In there?" He eyed the small box doubtfully, as if there were no possible way the shotgun shells could have fit in the box.

"No!" She yelled. She was getting frustrated at having to spell it out for him. "The bullet I sucked from your neck you thick vampire! I kept it . . . after Dallas . . . as a souvenir or a rite of passage, or something . . . ." She raked her hands through her thick, disheveled hair. _Why would they even want that? Who would know what it was?_

"Sookie, I think we've spent enough time here. It's time for us to go." There was an edge in his voice. She knew it wasn't fear, but it was definitely not the typical arrogance he exuded. This time she agreed with him. She grabbed a bag, shoved her clothes (if you could even call them that) into it, and got the Hell out of Dodge.

_TBC_ . . . .


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: **Disclaimer**: I do not own the Southern Vampire Mysteries characters. Sole rights belong to Ms. Harris. I can only hope she does not mind if I use them in an alternate Sookieverse.

**A/N**: Okay, so I've heard grumblings on the message boards about how Pam does not get enough , or the action is alluded to rather than spelled out. As you can guess, Pam felt the same way, and this chapter is reflective of that feeling. This was a difficult chapter for me to write. I'm better at writing what is going on in peoples' minds than what is going on in their . . . umm, other places. Oh well, I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to let me know what you think.

Many, many thanks to HopeStreet for helping me write that section. Without her help it would not have happened, but if it sucks, it's still mine so blame me. :)

* * *

The rest of her night had been uneventful . . . unfortunately. She'd dealt with the mundane tasks of misleading the local authorities (as if the local law enforcement needed any help mishandling the investigation), closing down the bar, and getting Bill over to Eric's house.

Her Master had her put Sookie into bed in one of the guest rooms, ensuring that she had the proper toiletries, towels, and other necessities. She'd tried to calm the little human, but Sookie was extremely shaken by the personal nature of the attack on her home. She was barely conscious and nearly incoherent by the time she arrived at Eric's home, so she was unable to relate to Pam the details of the attack.

After getting Sookie settled, she spent the night playing Gin Rummy with Bill, who lamented the loss of his family's homestead. She could sympathize. She was certain that house had taken on a new value since it had brought him to Sookie. She was further disappointed when she found out he held little information about the attacks to Sookie's home, since he had been busy trying to put out the fire. At the time, he was not even aware that Sookie's house was under siege.

She thought this was odd, as Bill had exceptionally good hearing . . . even when his attention was otherwise occupied. His acute hearing had been Sookie's savior numerous times in the past and had made him a useful ally in battle. She filed this information away in her mind with the other strange events that had occurred over that evening and wondered how the pieces all fit together.

She could not ask her Master. He had retreated into his study and was not to be disturbed. Bill kept asking her to let him speak with Eric. She told him that if he did not cease his incessant badgering, she would cut out his tongue and feed it back to him. He could sense that she was mostly serious when she said this and snapped his mouth shut after baring his fangs. The incessant badgering ceased, for the most part.

All three vampires were hungry and horny, and needed blood and sex. She had already had the Fellowship man, but Bill looked pretty bad off. She thought he might snap if he didn't "get some" soon.

Pam giggled at this term. _Get some_, she laughed to herself. It was one of the modern human terms that entertained her. It said so much with so little.

"What are you laughing at?" Bill's voice still had a definite edge to it.

"Surely you meant to ask '_who_' are you laughing at?" Her shoulders were now shaking with the force of her giggles.

"Have you gone mad?" He demanded. He meant it, too. To him, Pam was not one to show amusement, or any emotion really. He clearly was oblivious to the fact that he was sometimes a walking joke to her. She was certain he would try to fight her if he found out how ridiculous she thought him.

He shifted in his seat, and his fangs ran out a bit. Still, he didn't say anything, and she had to give him credit for that. "I'm just saying, Bill, that I think you need to '_get some_' as the humans say." She flashed him a wicked grin to emphasize her point.

"I would not dare with Sookie in the house." He puffed up like the good Southern gentleman he purported to be.

"Oh, sure, like you haven't before." She rolled her eyes at the audacity and capriciousness of this man. He was not young, but he was not yet old enough to go for sustained periods without blood. He needed to feed. If he wished to play the martyr in her Master's home, she would show him what it truly meant to be a martyr.

She stood from her chair and tossed her empty TrueBlood bottle in the recycling bin (Eric's new "thing," this recycling). She knew without looking at the clock that it was around three in the morning. It was the perfect time to go hunting for drunken fangbangers. "Are you ready, Compton?"

He eyed her with complete disbelief. "Ready for _what_?" _God, he's thick_, she complained to herself.

"Ready to _get some_, obviously." All traces of humor had vanished from her voice. He just waved her off. She bristled, but remained calm. "There is a late night, 'after hours' bar not too far from here. We can find something to feed on there. Our options will not be quite as extensive as usual, but . . . it will have to do."

"I don't think you understand, Pam. I'm not interested in _getting some_ as you so delicately put it." Her fangs ran down at the disdain and superiority in his tone. He was looking down on her for being what she was. This was something she did not tolerate well.

"Bill." She said in a harsh voice. She was issuing a challenge. "I'm not _requesting _your presence. I am telling you that if you wish to survive more than a night under my Master's roof, you will do what you need to do to get your emotions under control. You are irritating me, and you will no doubt irritate Eric." He was looking at her again. This time his expression was both confused and angry. She would have described the look as "torn."

"It hurt her that I fed from others, Pam."

"Yes, but she is no longer yours. And though you may believe you are hers, you are not. Come, Bill, we must go be what we are. We must go do what is necessary to survive. Eric may be able to go for days, or even weeks with little to no blood, but neither you nor I have that ability." She tried to make herself sound compassionate to appease the sentimental vampire. He was more likely to yield if he felt less guilty.

Internally she was rolling her eyes, and cursing the wretched beings who had set fire to Bill's house. She wondered how long she could stand the melancholy milieu his sentimentality and self-loathing created. She was already uncomfortable enough struggling with her own insecurity. His emotions might send her over the edge. Her thoughts had begun to alternate between the homicidal and suicidal, and it had only been a few hours of alone time with him. She could only hope that a good feeding would alleviate some of his weaker emotions by reminding him of his status as a superior being and predator.

She said nothing further, but she had convinced him with her expressions and body language. He reluctantly followed her into the woods. Once hidden under the dark cover of the woods behind Eric's house, they broke into a vampire gait. The damp air breezed past her face and caressed her cool, dead skin.

She has always felt most at home in this period—the time when night is contemplating surrender to the day. To her, the depth of the silence is almost palpable . . . intoxicating. The only sounds she could hear were the gentle whooshing sounds of her and Bill's legs as they speed through the undergrowth. She could also feel the air thick with the very early morning's magick. It seeped into her pores and breathed its own life into the magick that has kept her dead body moving through a living world.

In the dull silver slivers of the waning moon's light, she could hear the secrets of the universe calling to her. They alert her to things beautiful and horrendous; things that have already happened, that are happening, and that are inevitable. The fading of the night to day reminds her of her death, both her human death and her inevitable final death.

She has always known, like all her kind, that it is both a gift and a curse to exist as they exist, and for as long as they do. It is both pleasure and torture to see what they have seen and to have done what they have done. It is both exhilarating and atrocious to subsist by feeding on something you once were, like a bastardized form of cannibalism. Yet, unlike Bill and many of her kind, she has never regretted any single moment or experience of it.

Like her sire and Master, her nature is shaped by pragmatism. She has never wished nor sought to change the hand she was dealt by fate. She has embraced her nature, and its many facets. She has excelled as a predator, problem-solver, lover, and confidante.

As the woods began to thin, Pam could feel her bloodlust grow. She knew they were approaching the after-hours club when her senses were assaulted by a deluge of human scents and sounds. Like Eric, she has a keen sense of smell, and the fragrance of aroused humans and perspiration are the first things that hit her, causing her nostrils to flare and her fangs to run down in anticipation. Within seconds of smelling the gathered humans, she was able to hear the rhythmic thudding hearts and pulses.

Pam motioned to Bill to follow her as she strolled past the surly, red-haired vampire bouncer at the door and into the darkness of the club. There was nothing elegant or subtle about this place. The building was a converted warehouse with cement walls and exposed utility piping. The hastily painted midnight blue walls were lined with rounded black vinyl booths and coordinating formica tables. Some of the tables were overlaid with glitter or other painted designs. Long dark velour curtains hung from the rafters. The curtains separated the booths and scattered tables from a small dance floor surrounded by cracked naugahyde couches.

The overall effect of the furnishings was simultaneously somber and tacky, and the purpose of this place was clear. In her opinion, anyone who accused Fangtasia of being a vampire meat-market obviously had never seen this place. She could sense Bill's revulsion was even stronger than her own. She knew he preferred "calling in," or finding other more subtle ways of obtaining his meals.

Within seconds of entering the club, Pam had picked out a large table filled with ten nervous looking twenty-somethings. She nodded to Bill, and he shrugged. They moved to glide over to the table. Pam had sized them up as potential meals before anyone at the table had even noticed her presence. When one of the girls looked back over her shoulder to find Pam standing there, she jumped and tugged her chair closer to one of the men at the table. _As if that flabby fraternity boy could protect you from me if I wanted you_. Pam smirked to herself at the very idea of it.

"Mind if we join you?" Pam directed the question to the woman she had pegged as the leader. This woman was sitting at the "head" of the round table with an air of authority. She was thin, but curvy with wavy auburn hair and light brown, almost green, eyes. Pam observed that this woman was the only one of the group who appeared even remotely comfortable in the mixed human-vampire environment. She would be the easiest to seduce. Pam would thus set her aside for Bill. She knew he would not relish the seduction—the hunt—as she does.

"Sure, you can sit next to me honey," the girl drawled and batted her eyes in Bill's direction.

Bill stiffened and whispered into Pam's ear in a voice that was inaudible to the humans. "I cannot believe you brought me to this place."

"Oh, lighten up Bill. I know you've been to worse. Besides, you need to eat, don't you?" She whispered back, allowing a touch of annoyance to creep through her voice. How quickly vampires seemed to have forgotten the conditions of their existence prior to coming out of the coffin. She'd heard some fairly twisted stories about Bill and his deranged maker Lorena, and the way they'd obtained their meals.

Despite her annoyance at Bill's reticence, Pam was amused by the lead female. She was certain the woman had intended her voice to sound sexy and coy. In reality, she had sounded desperate and overeager. She would enjoy watching Bill suffer through this meal. She glanced over at him, and he was still glaring at her while putting on a gregarious face for his future meal. _Oh yes_, _this is going to be entertaining_, she thought.

Both vampires pulled chairs over to the table and sat down on either side of the leader. A quick survey of the group revealed two obvious couples; one black and one white. The remaining five individuals were a mixture of races and sexes. They all exuded fear and excitement. Pam had the feeling that tonight was their first encounter with vampires.

Nearly an hour had passed, and both Pam and Bill were growing impatient. They were tiring of their playful human façades, and could sense dawn approaching. They needed to divide and conquer. The humans, however, despite their excessive consumption of alcohol, had rejected all offers to dance, or go anywhere unaccompanied by their entire contingent. Pam was getting bored, and this was never a good thing.

After another ten minutes of mindless bantering, Pam went to cast Bill a look that plainly said, "Let's get the fuck out of this dump and pick up and glamour some random strays," but stopped herself when she noticed Bill was otherwise engaged with one of the single females—interestingly, not the leader. When she looked over, Bill was removing his tongue from the young woman's mouth and was wordlessly leading her away from the table and toward the door.

_Well, go Bill, go_, she chuckled to herself. She sighed. It was time to make some moves before she missed her opportunity to feed before sunrise. She turned to look at the lead female, whose name she learned was Mary. She noticed Mary was looking wistfully at Bill and the other girl as they walked through the club's exit. "That's too bad, sweetie." Pam crooned to Mary, appealing to the girl's ego and desperation. Mary just stared.

"You know," Pam continued slowly, "you could do a lot better than him. There are lots of other fish in the vampire sea." She vaguely remembered _Dear Abby _saying something similar.

"I know." She let out a quick sigh. "It's just that he was really cute. He reminded me of my boyfriend that just dumped me." Mary's words were crisp and clear; the girl was still sober. Pam sighed and wondered whether all hope for a quick and easy feed was lost. She really didn't feel like hunting for and glamouring strays. Still, she wasn't ready to give up quite yet. She'd rarely, if ever, failed to secure her prey.

"Well, that's a bad reason to flirt with someone isn't it?" She batted her eyelashes at Mary with feigned friendly concern and gave her a warm (and fangless) smile.

Mary laughed a bit. "Yes, I suppose it is." She replied and ducked her head bashfully. "But, if I'm being perfectly honest . . . well, this is so embarrassing . . . I came here to get bitten." _Shocker_, Pam thought to herself and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had to admit that although Mary was certainly desperate and had been over eager, she was not nearly as ridiculous as most of the vermin she and her Master entertained at Fangtasia. Her impression of the girl was that her breakup with her boyfriend had done some emotional damage, and she was looking to cut loose.

Pam continued onward on her path to gain Mary's trust. This was turning out to be a better hunt than she had anticipated. She took a swig of her TrueBlood. "Why do you want to get bitten? Why do humans want this?"

"I'm not really sure," came Mary's reply, "but it seems . . . well, it seems different from anything I've ever experienced. You know, like a forbidden fruit, or something." Mary's cheeks were blushing crimson, and Pam struggled to keep her fangs from running down at the rush of blood and enhanced scent.

She leaned in toward Mary. She could smell the human's excitement. It was mingled with a touch of fear, and the combination was causing the smell of her blood to intensify. "I can bite you, if you'd like." Now Pam was being coy as she tried to make herself seem shy and innocent.

It took only another fifteen minutes before Mary's curiosity won out over her fear and reserve. They made their excuses about being tired and needing to go to sleep to the rest of Mary's contingent. One of the couples stared at the two of them in disbelief and warning, but Pam and Mary just said their good-byes and left the club in an embrace.

The vampire bouncer winked at Pam as she breezed past. She just rolled her eyes. _Men_, she thought as she diverted the Mary's attention away from him. It turned out that Mary rented a small apartment a few blocks down from the club. Pam thought this was nice and convenient.

It took less than five minutes before the two women, one vampire and one human, were disrobed and intertwined on Mary's simple full-size bed. Pam seductively ran her tongue along the girl's neck, tracing a path over her veins and major arteries. Mary's heart rate accelerated, and she began sighing with pleasure. Between gasps she finally uttered, "I've n-n-never done this with a girl before." Her tone of voice told Pam she was clearly scared and beginning to have reservations.

Pam paused, contemplating the best approach to assuaging Mary's fears. "I'm not a girl, Mary. I am vampire."

Mary inhaled, and then inclined her head, exposing her neck to the hungry vampire. "Okay, I want you to do it."

Mary's breathy declaration of willingness and accelerated heartbeat were too much for Pam to resist. She caressed a line down the girl's neck with her lips and tongue one more time, and then bit. She drank deeply from the girl's throbbing vein. The scent and taste of the coppery liquid were sweet and overwhelming—Mary tasted better than Pam could have anticipated. The flavor was intoxicating; the girl was not fae, but her blood had nearly the same qualities.

She rubbed herself and her hands all over the human's body. She caressed, stroked, and massaged every curve and fold. She was only distracted from the pleasure of her feeding by the sounds of Mary's rapturous moans. This only fueled her own desire and pleasure—this, the spoils of a victorious and successful hunt. She would sleep well the coming day, after ensuring Mary would never forget this night.

Pam could feel her bloodlust rising again. The scent and taste of the human's blood was coursing through and igniting a fire in every cell in her body. The feel of Mary's soft body was pure heat beneath her cool fingers. With great effort, Pam pulled her lips away from the bite, and glided her tongue from Mary's throat to her breasts, taking one into her mouth and flicking her tongue lightly around the hardening nipple. Mary's response was surprisingly arousing to Pam. As Mary moaned and groaned, she arched her back to give Pam greater access to her nipple.

Pam then ran her hands and her tongue along both of Mary's breasts. She was slowly peeling away the layers of Mary's uncertain demeanor. The human was beginning to grind against Pam's torso with wanton abandonment. Her moaning was growing louder and more insistent. She was using all of her feeble human strength to hold Pam against her. The scent of Mary's arousal, combined with the scent of her blood washed over Pam's consciousness like a tidal wave.

Pam knew this intermingling of the scent of the human's arousal with the already present scent of the human's blood surging through her veins changed the dynamic of the feeding. Whereas Pam's earlier feeding from the Fellowship man had been enhanced by the feeling of revenge and dominance, this feeding was pure passion. She slowly worked her tongue, lips, and hands over Mary's torso. She ran a single finger from the human's breast to her inner thighs and her arousal surged as she watched the muscles contract with desire under her touch. She paused to glance up and saw that Mary's face was dewy and distant from the pleasure of this forbidden contact.

This raw and unchecked desire pushed Pam further. She had always enjoyed being an accomplished lover, regardless of the partner. Fueled by her bloodlust, she licked the juncture at the upper thighs and explored between Mary's legs with her long fingers seeking entry between Mary's folds. Mary bucked in shock but did not stop Pam's advances. Pam was pleased to discover that Mary was wet and hot. She continued to massage and rub while Mary whispered and moaned.

She greedily breathed in the human's enhanced scent as if it were a delicious perfume. When Pam used her tongue to replace her thumb, the human's response was immediate; her muscles contracted, and she began to buck and spasm to the point where Pam had to use an arm to secure Mary in place.

Pam's own tension was nearing its crescendo; her skin and core were white-hot fire, and the bloodlust threatened to consume her. She turned her face to the inside of Mary's thigh, kissing and licking along the artery, until the human was quivering with anticipation and ready. Then she bit down, pulling the liquid into her mouth until she found her own release. She collapsed and rolled to the side of the bed as the shuddering human rolled to embrace her.

Pam allowed the contact, reveling in the afterglow of pleasure for a few minutes more. No more than five minutes had passed and Pam was off the bed and getting dressed. She needed to return and speak with Eric before going to ground in time for dawn.

"Where are you going?" Mary's voice was soft and shy now.

"I have to go to ground before dawn." She looked at Mary's sad and lonely face. A flicker of sympathy washed over her, but she stamped it down. _What is wrong with me lately_? She chided herself. "Vampires, as I'm sure you're aware, cannot be exposed to sunlight."

Mary gave a short nod, but looked somewhat rejected. "Okay. I understand. Thank you."

Pam flashed the girl a seductive leer with a little fang. "Any time." With that, she swept out the door and back through the woods.

When she entered Eric's house through the sliding glass door in his great room, she noticed him waiting for her in an oversized armchair. His golden hair and blue eyes were bright and beautiful as always, but he looked pale, drawn, and contemplative. She had a feeling she would not enjoy this conversation, or whatever task he had in store for her. Yet she knew she would do whatever he asked, and without hesitation.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Child?" He asked with semi-sincere interest.

"I did, thank you, despite the rushed circumstances."

"Hmmph." He nodded in understanding. "Did you take care of Compton as well?"

She hesitated. She wasn't certain that he'd actually fed. "I led the horse to water. That's all I can say for Bill." She shrugged, and took a seat on a large brown leather couch located opposite the ancient vampire.

"I'm troubled by these attacks, Pam. There are some things about them that are very specific and very personal. Someone has been observing the local supernatural community for a long time." His accompanying look conveyed to her that he felt that although someone had likely infiltrated the local networks, and this was an irritation, it was not his most pressing concern.

"So, what do you suggest?"

"I need to call in reinforcements. I need to call in trusted vampires from outside the area who can rouse the suspicions of the locals. I want to see who comes out of the woodwork first." Both his voice and demeanor were calm and confident. He may have said he was "troubled," but she knew him, and she knew that he was actually more pissed off than "troubled."

"Who did you have in mind?" she asked. Pam asked as if she had no idea who he had in mind, but the truth was she was anticipating a certain name, and she knew she was not going to like it.

"I think you should call Alexander." His voice was level but authoritative. There was no room for argument despite his passive phrasing.

Her suspicions were confirmed, and she did not like it. "I thought you did not trust Alexander."

He smirked at her. "I'm surprised you resist. I thought you would jump at the opportunity to see him."

"You must not know me as well as you thought." She paused for a moment to remove the irritation and challenge from her voice. She reiterated, "I thought _you_ did not trust him."

"That is correct. I do not trust him. I have never trusted him."

"Then why should I call him?"

"Oh, I think you know why. I'm fairly certain he can bring his people over to our side . . . after all, I'm sure he'd be glad to see you." He could not resist adding his typical leering grin to that statement. Her temper flared but she could do nothing. She would call Alexander, like a good minion, and that can-of-worms would once again be opened.

_TBC . . . _


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: Sorry it has been so long since my last update to this story. I've been crazy busy, and I've had to put writing on the back burner (grrrr). Anyhow, it took a while for Pam and I finally agree (sort of) on the way this piece of her backstory should be told.

**NOTE**: For all those dedicated SVM readers who have read the books a million times and recall absolutely every detail about every character (I love you!), I have created my own Pam backstory. If this departs from CH's established Pam "canon," then so be it. If there are similarities, great!

**Disclaimer**: Sole copyright belongs to Charlaine Harris. No infringement intended.

For ease of recollection, I have incorporated the last few lines of Chapter 7. Enjoy!

* * *

From Chapter 7:

"I think you should call Alexander." His voice was level but authoritative. There was no room for argument despite his passive phrasing.

Her suspicions were confirmed, and she did not like it. "I thought you did not trust Alexander."

He smirked at her. "I'm surprised you resist. I thought you would jump at the opportunity to see him."

"You must not know me as well as you thought." She paused for a moment to remove the irritation and challenge from her voice. "I thought _you_ did not trust him."

"That is correct. I do not trust him. I have never trusted him."

"Then why should I call him?"

"Oh, I think you know why. I'm fairly certain he can bring his people over to our side . . . after all, I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

Chapter 8:

Sometimes the things you do and people you love or wrong follow you. They walk in lock-step with you, lurking in the shadowy confines of the past. You may travel so far in time or in physical space that you tell yourself you've discarded these things along the way. Despite this, they remain, haunting your every step and waiting for that singular event that will shine a light on them, and bring them back to the forefront of your existence.

Pam was undead proof of this.

As she lay dead to the world in the comfort of her coffin, Pam pondered this truth in the context of the latest turn of events.

She knew exactly why her Master had chosen Alexander as his "outside assistance." Alexander was a former associate. Her Master knew that he was a possible saboteur, and if not, a potential powerful ally. Eric wanted to keep his friends close and his enemies closer.

But Pam knew this was not the only reason Eric had chosen Alexander. Ordering her to contact Alexander was his payback to her for leaving his side to cavort with one of his former allies.

Her Master was a generous and lenient one as far as vampires go, but she had committed a major taboo. He had permitted her behavior because he valued their relationship—something she had only learned to appreciate as she aged and matured—but he promised her that she would be punished and that her punishment would fit the offense.

After all, as Eric has always said, "revenge is a dish best served cold," and her Master was never one to break his promises. So, when he "asked" her to contact Alexander, he knew this would be the ultimate punishment.

Her affair with Alexander had been brief but intense. He'd seduced her—persuasion was one of his talents. Alexander was not stunningly beautiful. He was one of the oldest vampires she had encountered at that time. He was born on Sardinia sometime during the reign of Marcus Aurelius, and had spent most of his life fighting on behalf of the Roman Empire in compulsory military service.

His olive-skinned body was scarred and wiry. His right shoulder bore the mark of his legion name and number. She'd heard through the vampire grapevine that when the movie The Gladiator came out, he was inspired to attempt to erode the brand. Unsurprisingly, he was unsuccessful. His vampire skin had healed (brand included) in a matter of moments.

Aside from the marks of battle, Alexander was physically unimpressive. His height lingered somewhere between five foot seven and five foot eight, and Pam had once counted his ribs. His hair was deep chestnut, and his nose was the most prominent feature on his face. Yet, there was something in his eyes. He was blessed with the large, slightly almond shaped eyes that typified his brand of Mediterranean hybrid. The irises were the darkest brown Pam had ever seen. Sometimes they bordered on black. She had once believed the shadowy black of his eyes were a secret repository for worldly knowledge.

Yes, she had a romantic side. Yes, the depths of his black eyes were what had eventually seduced her. He was so very different from any man she had ever known.

He was fiery and passionate. He never minced words, or bothered to check his emotions. Alexander had been the one to persuade her to leave her Master's side. He'd approached her at an opportune time. And she was ready to strike out on her own.

Around that time Eric had, with Alexander's help, overrun a smaller nest of vampires outside the Chicago area. The Chicago nest was made up of ten vampires, the oldest of whom had been around Pam's age. They were no match for Eric's clan of twenty older vampires with superior fighting skills.

It had been easy to rid the nest of its original inhabitants after they'd reduced its numbers by half. It was the period of time following the takeover that had yielded the most complications. The old nest had been connected to some powerful and reclusive Chicago vampires, and it was taking a great deal of political maneuvering on Eric and Alexander's part to ease the tension that accompanied integration into the existing local hierarchy.

While Pam enjoyed the fighting and conquest aspect of taking over a nest, she had always disliked the elbow-rubbing of vampire politics. It required a certain degree of submissiveness. As the low man on the totem pole, vampire hierarchy dictated that she was loaned out to the other vampires to do their bidding.

Pam had no desire to submit to anyone other than her Master, or his sire. She had never met Eric's creator, and was uncertain of whether this vampire still existed. In her mind, that meant she was free to honor only one. After a brief period of youthful rebellion Pam had settled into her role of doing just that.

Having served Eric faithfully for a century was beginning to wear on her. She was feeling the familiar pull of rebellious independence. Her tedious and precarious position with the Chicago vampires strengthened this pull. She longed for freedom.

It was this reluctance toward her duty that made her anxious to wander from her Master's side. It also drew Alexander's attention to her. He admired her defiance and capable nature. He also resented the deal he had struck to share power with Eric. In his mind, he was older, and should have had Eric's fealty. But, Eric knew that Alexander was the lesser fighter and often exploited this weakness.

Like Pam, Alexander had rejected the societal strictures of his human time. Being turned had freed him from the bonds of humanity, arranged marriage, and compulsory military service. He convinced Pam that staying with Eric was a different kind bondage. At some point during one of their typical ten-hour sex marathons he convinced her to wander like Nomads through the wild of the Appalachia.

While they roamed together she had benefited from his humor and sexual prowess, and he had benefitted from her proficiency in battle and business. The wooded mountain terrain was a difficult place for humans to survive. There were many abandoned cabins dotting the landscape. The homes were coarse and rugged, but provided beds and clothes.

Finding humans to feed off of, even in the lonely wilderness, was rarely a difficult task. The local cultures were rife with superstition, and the inhabitants were rarely surprised to see vampires walking through the moonlit woods. They seemed to accept the unfortunate chance of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and rarely needed to be glamoured. The stories of the vampire kind would spread like wildfire through the small hamlets and Pam would laugh as she would catch snippets of these stories being told over the rotgut being peddled in the makeshift taverns.

They learned the forests together, and fought off encroaching vampire clans. It was around the time of the Great Depression, and things were difficult for vampires in the cities. Humans were not spending money, and were often travelling in big groups. It was harder to feed without being noticed, and their kind was in danger of mass exposure. The mood of the times practically ensured their extermination, so many vampires were fleeing to the rural areas where humans were less plentiful, but more isolated. It was a desperate time.

When not searching for new shelter, or fending off others of their kind, Pam and Alexander split their time between passionate and creative sex and long, intense conversations. Their worldviews were colored by very different experiences, but both believed strongly in their own opinions. They would often fight with each other in their cabins, by flickering candlelight, slamming each other into walls, and ceilings.

Their fights would often become so intense that they would spill over into the surrounding forests. The cabin walls and floors were replaced by large broadleaf trees.

When their passion and bloodlust would bubble over like the streams during the early spring flood season, Alexander would throw her down onto the ground, bed, rocks, moss, leaves, or wherever they were at the time, rip off her clothes and stockings.

Then the sex would begin. It was rarely gentle or slow. Her vampire flesh, with its heightened ability to absorb sensation would drink in the rough contact as his hands covered and caressed every inch of her body. Their bodies would move in rhythmic synchronicity for hours and hours on end.

The forests would grow silent. Even the trees were afraid to breathe with the insatiable vampires playing in their midst. The sultry sounds of their moans and screams reverberated off the mountain walls. This was the soundtrack to Pam's existence during her years with Alexander.

This life together went on for some years when Pam realized she had grown weary of their tumultuous relationship. Everything Alexander said and did had begun to irritate her. She imagined the many different ways she could kill him.

As the talking and fighting grew less frequent, so did the sex. He would disappear for days at a time, hunting in a different forest. For the first time in her life Pam felt a strange sensation within her lifeless core. She felt as if someone were tearing her inside to shreds.

She hated him when he was with her. She longed for his touch when he was away. Her dependence on his companionship weighed on her. She grew disgusted with her own weakness.

Pam knew she needed to leave, and wander on her own. She began to understand certain truths about her relationship with the vampire Alexander. Being made a vampire had freed her from her human life, and leaving Eric had temporarily freed her from her duty to serve him, but her relationship with Alexander and its vampiric co-dependency had replaced them as another form of spiritual bondage.

Leaving Alexander had been a difficult endeavor. Like most vampires he was possessive and violent. He was not ready to let go of Pam so quickly. He devised numerous schemes and various types of torture in order to bind her to him. He quickly learned that she was far too willful to succumb to this form of treatment.

Her Master had trained her to resist most types of punishment. The first five years of her existence had included torture resistance training. Her Master had tested her with forms of punishment many could only imagine in their most savage nightmares.

Alexander lacked both the requisite creativity and understanding of her mind to dominate her through either physical pain or emotional humiliation. Despite all of the years they had spent together, learning one another, she was still a great mystery to him.

When his attempted brutality failed to win either her regard or submission, he resorted to softer methods. He offered her a position of great power in an up and coming vampire hierarchy in the West. He made many promises allowing her freedom, power, and independence. He promised her a never-ending supply of lovers and sustenance.

His offers were tempting to Pam, who was always hungry and enthusiastically entrepreneurial. But, by the time he was clever enough to extend these types of perks, she received another opportunity in Montana. Her Master had put her in touch with another former member of his retinue who was opening a ranch and logging business. She readily accepted.

She lived happily undisturbed in the fresh air and open ranges in the shadow of the mountains. The vampire who owned the business, Dashel, had been a cowboy in his human life. He was reluctant to leave that aspect of his life behind. His easy-going demeanor, and rugged appearance were a source of entertainment for Pam.

He was everything that Alexander was not. He was soft-spoken, simple, and uneducated. He enjoyed what he called the "good things" in life—fucking, feeding, fighting, and riding. Pam and Dashel, or "Dash," as she liked to call him, were never lovers. He taught her how to horseback ride and steer cattle through the nighttime fields. She taught him how to read and maintain the books for his businesses.

Dash was the closest thing to a "friend" that Pam had experienced since she was turned. The two would head into the local watering holes in their dusty denim and cowboy boots at the end of their long cattle drives. The locals would give them an odd look, sensing their strangeness, but would treat them respectfully as passing cowmen.

Feeding and sex were "slim pickins" as Dash called it. The remote Montana mountains were even more sparsely inhabited than those of Western Virginia and North Carolina. Charm, glamour, and constant traveling were necessities. Still, they made it work and Pam was content. Though it was impossible for her vampire mind to forget, the nagging at the back of her consciousness had dulled, and Alexander had become an almost distant memory.

Alexander allowed a long time to pass before he deemed himself ready to seek her out. He considered her departure a betrayal, and would probably have staked her on first sight. But, he eventually moved past this irrationality, and Pam and Dash were surprised to return one evening to find him standing on the roughly-hewn wood of their mountain lodge.

Dash immediately sprung into fight mode, and Alexander roared with jealousy at the sight of Pam with another vampire. Pam merely laughed at this testosterone-driven display and invited Alexander into the lodge, which belonged to her "business associate."

When the tense moments passed, and the boys put away their weapons, or fangs, the three of them sat around the large wooden dining table. Alexander took that moment to re-extend to Pam his previous offers.

He was again too late. By that time Pam had received her Master's call to open Fangtasia. Humans were now aware of the existence of vampires, and she no longer needed any of the things Alexander had to offer.

He was devastated and angry. In his rage he threatened her with financial ruin and physical torture. She held fast and firm to her decision to obey her Master's call. She reminded Alexander that whatever punishment he had in store for her was nothing compared to the punishment she would receive at the hands of her Master were she to disregard his call.

Alexander was rash and quick-tempered, but he was no fool. He knew Pam well enough to know that she would never ignore her Master's call, especially with so many interceding years of freedom from obedience. He thought she was probably looking forward to rejoining him. He knew Eric was generous and loyal, for a vampire, and would give her power and a loose rein.

After this realization, he struck at the root of the problem. Instead of threatening Pam directly, he threatened her Master, his power, and freedom. He threatened to start a conflict between Eric's territory and his own.

"I've made many new powerful allies since we parted ways."

Pam caught his meaning and just laughed. "You're a fool to even consider such an approach. My Master, who has moved up in the vampire hierarchy, will chain you under nets of silver, and disembowel you with a silver sword. He won't even have to be punished if you invade his territory."

"You and I will be partners again, Pam. I'm not afraid of your Master, even if he is the ferocious Viking warrior. I'm older than he is, and fought alongside him for many years, if you recall."

She knew he meant to threaten not only Eric, but his entire territory and anyone who owed him fealty. She searched his deep mocha eyes for some hint of weakness or lack of resolve. There was none. "Again. You are a fool to consider such an approach. I would 'put my money' on him each and every time." Dash's love and persistent use of the Western human vernacular was clearly wearing off on her.

It was Alexander's turn to scoff. He crossed his arms and let out a long yawn of boredom.

"Look Alexander," she continued, "Eric is more adept at survival and battle strategy than you could ever hope to understand. You may have traveled with him for a long time, but he's not one to share all of his knowledge."

She pulled her chair closer to him. His nose crinkled at the smell of the horses and wilderness that clung to her hair and clothes. "He will sense your attack before you even have a chance to plot it. He will intercept it. He will capture you. He will tie you down with silver netting so that you sizzle in the sun until your skin starts to melt. Then, when he is bored of that approach he will pull you out from the sun and stick you in a cool damp basement and feed you thimble-sized quantities of blood. He will make sure you heal just enough . . . then, when you think you may live to see another day, he will disembowel you with a silver sword and let you watch." She gave him a fangy smile. "I've watched him do this to a vampire before."

Alexander was not intimidated by the prospect of torture by battle. Nor was intimidation the purpose of her speech. He did, however, understand the depths of her loyalty to, and confidence in, her Master and his ability to protect her and the rest of his territory. At the conclusion of her rant he rose and walked out the door, and out of her life without a word.

She let him go. She was not without regret. A piece of her longed for the intense and passionate days they had spent together. She knew she was not likely to encounter that sort of connection again in her future. But the greater piece of her knew she had made the right decision. She thought she had finally freed herself of her greatest weakness.

Now she must invite that weakness back into her life at the behest of her Master. Her Master would ask, in his own way, for Alexander's assistance. Alexander would now have power over her, even if indirectly.

Pam rose late from her coffin the next day. She made the intentional decision to linger in her coffin long after the sun had surrendered to the horizon. She waited until she knew the California sun had set before she began to stir. She wanted to put the inevitable phone call behind her, and avoid questions from prying humans and vampires in the meantime. She was not even curious about what had transpired during the day.

She whipped out her cell phone in the darkness of her guestroom. She did not bother to turn on any lights. Her mouth was burning with hunger but she pushed that sensation to the back of her mind. She still had his number on speed dial. The phone rang twice before he answered.

"Pam darling, I'm so glad you called." His voice was as smooth and seductive as she remembered it. He allowed a hint of his accent to slip through for her benefit.

"Is that so, Alexander?" Her voice was placid, showing no trace of emotion.

"Yes, of course, it has been too long."

"That is interesting. I thought perhaps you would never want to hear from me again."

"Oh, you know how vampire memories and grudges are, Pam darling."

"Yes, I do. As I recall . . . they are rather long and fixed."

"Oh, but not in this case. To what do I owe the honor of this call?"

"I believe my Master once again seeks an alliance with you."

There was silence from the other end of the line. If she knew Alexander at all he was extremely angry. "Hmmm. That is interesting."

"I seek your alliance as well," she added.

"I will meet with your Master at his bar tomorrow. Have him book a few nice hotel rooms, such as there are in Shreveport, for myself and a few members of my retinue. Then, have him send a car for us prior to closing." With that directive, the phone went dead.

"I take it he agreed," she heard in Old Norse from behind her.

"Not entirely."

"Did he refuse?"

"Not entirely."

"Well, make any necessary arrangements, and tell me what I need to say to him. That arrogant asshole always had a soft spot for you. I'm sure you can make it worth his while." Eric's voice was light with teasing. She knew that he would never demand that she offer herself to Alexander. It was more like he would expect her to think of such a temptation on her own. She would do this, of course, but only if the standard negotiations for his alliance appeared unsuccessful.

"Of course. You know I will do what is necessary to ensure our survival." She nodded in his direction, and then turned to her closet. It was yet another night of door duty, and she needed to look the part.

She ran her hands over the fitted black leather corset, and her white skin which looked even more gaunt against the black. She felt a moment's reticence about her role in this scheme. She was opening herself and her life to unwanted intrusion. She briefly contemplated leaving to return to the Montana ranch. She still communicated with Dash who was still living in Montana. It would be all too easy to fall back into her old routines.

The feeling was fleeting. As she pulled the black lace arm covers up her forearms she admired the beauty of her physique. She would have the chance to put this to good use. She would seduce a powerful vampire whose attentions she had spurned time and time again. If she was lucky she would eventually spill the blood of many enemies, and feed from their minions.

Her fangs ran down at the thought of the carnage she would create. _Yes_, she thought to herself, _this is going to be fun_.

_TBC . . . _


End file.
